Arusian Crusade: Starfall
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Voltron has awakened, and with him hope returns to Arus. But the Drules aren't just sitting back and watching. In every war, sooner or later, a hero has to fall.
1. Falling In

**Arusian Crusade: Starfall**  
>Chapter 1: Falling In<p>

_Arusian Crusade, part two! Sequel to AC: Deployment. Once again, this is pretty much an exercise in throwing every continuity into a blender and seeing what comes out.  
><em>_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Coran spent a lot of time on monitor duty these days. Too much, in Nanny's opinion; she kept trying to drag him elsewhere. Said so much brooding wasn't good for him, that he needed to get out and <em>do something<em> with himself. Claimed he was going to give himself eye strain from staring at the screens so much.

Eye strain was the least of anyone's problems these days, though he appreciated the thought.

There was no particular need to have someone on station all the time. Really there wasn't much need to have anyone on station at all. In one short week the two engineers sent by the Alliance had managed to get the castle's sensor net extended back to its previous efficiency. They'd also fixed the comms and started patching up the crumbling spire that was Black Lion's den.

All that in between working out, training in their lions, and mercilessly mocking their commander. Efficiency.

_They're good kids_, he mused, a little surprised to be thinking of five trained soldiers as kids. But what else could he do? They were so _young_. He'd had a few misgivings when the Alliance's initial plan was revealed. Sending specially trained but untested warriors... there were elements of it that made sense, it just seemed like this was the sort of mission that might call for a veteran hand.

If they'd known exactly what they were sending the pilots to do, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps not.

King Alfor had been pleased with the Alliance's choices, in any case, and Coran hadn't bothered to advise against it. He'd been mildly unsettled, but not that concerned. Watching them now he was glad he'd remained silent. They _were_ good kids. And very good at what they did.

All of that led back to what he was really doing on monitor duty. Not watching the outside, but the inside of the Castle of the Elements. The Castle of Lions. He wasn't sure where the new name had started, all he knew was that those within the castle had seized on it like a lifeline, and who was he to tell them no?

Actually he rather liked it, but it was going to take some getting used to.

Morale within the castle had reached levels he couldn't remember seeing in his life, even before the Drules had come. _This_ was what he was watching. Monitoring the whispers, the transmissions leaving the castle in the direction of a dozen enclaves of survivors. He was certainly not monitoring what those communications actually said, but there was no need to. It was clear enough.

Word was spreading. Hope was spreading.

Arus would rise again.

* * *

><p>Allura stood in the courtyard in her combat uniform—gray, the color worn by Arusian military recruits in the days there had still been an Arusian military—trying to keep her body loose and staring down a sack full of straw. It stared back at her; someone had painted a face on it right about where the head ought to have been. A smirking, unpleasant face that she actually found quite irritating. She rather wanted to punch it, and her impulses usually didn't work that way.<p>

Of course, that _was_ precisely the idea.

"Oh hey, you getting acquainted with Strawman already?" She didn't jump, though the voice came out of nowhere; she'd had a vague sense that someone was approaching. "Shame on you. Keith still doesn't want you hitting anything yet."

"Yes, so he's said." She turned to face Lance, who'd trotted up with a towel slung over his bare shoulders, and was very much aware that if Keith were here the other pilot would be dead in a matter of seconds. Personally she found it amusing. At least _someone_ was treating her as an equal... and she also couldn't help appreciating the view. "Something about muscle strain?"

He snorted. "Yep. He's our fearless leader, unless you dare to suggest someone without martial arts training might try to throw a punch. Then he freaks." Shrug. "I won't tell if you want to take a few swings, if you promise not to hit so hard you pull something."

Before she could promise, it occurred to her that she had no idea how hard that may or may not be. "Hmm..." Keith had started her on basic calisthenics; he was pretty sure jumping right into the full training regimen would kill her. The princess still hadn't quite decided whether to be offended or appreciative. Either way, her practical knowledge of her limits _was_ somewhat lacking, and finding them by injuring herself probably wasn't the way to go. "Maybe I'd better wait."

"Suit yourself." He walked up and landed a fist right on the dummy's wicked grin. "Pidge did a great job on that face, didn't he? Makes me want to rip it right off."

"It's pretty effective, yes."

The team generally trained together, but only to an extent. Each had their own routines as well, and she was pretty sure most of them weren't aware she'd been watching them all very carefully over the last few days. Not in any inappropriate fashion. Just trying to learn, to maybe pick up a few new techniques. But she couldn't make enough sense of things from a distance, so she stuck with the exercises Keith had taught her so far and waited for more.

Watching Lance she was struck by how much he reminded her of Prince Acamar; they shared the same wiry build and easy smile. The nature of their duties meant she'd never been especially close to her brother, but she'd very much enjoyed what time she'd been able to spend with him. And like Lance, he'd seen her as a peer rather than something delicate to be sheltered. After all, it was Acamar who'd taught her to fire a warbow when her eldest brother, Tarazed, was still arguing with her to practice her curtsy.

Keith's serious attitude had reminded her of Tarazed's strictness at first, to be honest, but she'd noticed him loosening up as her training progressed and she didn't break anything on herself. Hopefully that would continue. Maybe he would even let her punch something by the end of the next week.

After a few more hits on the dummy Lance shot her a salute and turned away. "I'd better get moving. Keith should be here in a few minutes though, he's running late with the paperwork. You know how it is."

"Unfortunately." Allura knew. Pidge and Hunk had gotten the castle's communications back up two days ago, and no report they'd sent to the Alliance since then seemed to be satisfactory. In fairness, there _was_ quite a lot of ground to cover. As the ruler of Arus, she'd had quite a lot of that paperwork to deal with herself, at least until she came to her senses and dumped it off on Coran.

For his part, Coran claimed to disapprove of her taking up combat training, but he'd accepted the extra duties without a murmur of complaint. If he'd wanted to keep her too busy to train, he could've just said no.

Lance departed, meeting Pidge as he left; the small warrior gave her a grin when he realized he'd been noticed. They moved back into the castle, but it had probably only been a matter of seconds when Pidge returned, swinging around the doorway. "Hey Allura, had you ever seen a guy without a shirt on before?"

The princess blinked. _What in the...?_ A faint blush sprang to her cheeks. She wasn't _that_ sheltered. "Of course I have!"

He disappeared without explanation.

Watching the doorway, alone again and now thoroughly confused, Allura finally found the temptation too hard to resist. She whipped around and punched the dummy right in its smirking face, then rubbed her newly aching knuckles with a wince.

Was it supposed to hurt _her_ when she hit something?

She had plenty yet to learn.

* * *

><p>Lance's personal workout routine took him through half the castle. Not really his preference; it was just that they only had one training dummy for the moment, and its being set up in the courtyard meant he had to go indoors if he wanted to slug it.<p>

Today someone was standing in the doorway as he went to leave the courtyard. Someone small and slim, wearing a salvaged tech coverall that was a solid two sizes too big for him, who currently had a palm slapped to his forehead as he watched his teammate approach.

"Were you wanting to spend some quality time with Strawman, Pidge? He's all yours until Keith shows up."

"Yeah. Keith." The little pilot shook his head. "When he kills you in your sleep, the official cause of death is going to go down as self-inflicted injury. You know that, right?"

No need to ask what he was talking about there. "After a few hundred death threats from him I actually stopped taking them seriously," Lance shrugged. "And I'll have you know Allura enjoyed it. You act like she's never seen a guy without a shirt on before."

"Has she? She's a princess."

"Yeah, a princess, not a total hothouse flower!"

"How should I know the difference?" He paused, turned, stuck his head back out into the courtyard. "Hey Allura, had you ever seen a guy without a shirt on before?" Lance couldn't quite help gawking at his companion. That was something _he_ would do. The look went unnoticed; the small pilot turned around after a minute and shrugged. "Huh, what do you know, you're right. She said yes."

"Did you really just... dude, why am I the only one with a reputation around here? And how did you make it through the academy without every commanding officer ever ripping your head off?"

"I'm not that much of a smartass around commanders, Lance!"

"Just around princesses, huh?"

"Should I not be?"

"Oh boy. What'd you do, little buddy, and am I gonna have to hide you from Keith?" Hunk appeared in full uniform; he'd been spending most of his time working on the lions, insisting that hauling equipment and scrap metal around was more than enough exercise for him. Which was probably true. "Because I can totally arrange that, you promised to help me with shock dampeners today."

Pidge blinked. "You actually found some?"

"Yep. Turns out there's a big ol' scrapyard out in the desert, a couple miles from Yellow Lion's den, looks like the Arusians busted up a whole Drule armor legion. Pretty good stuff, actually."

"Sounds good to me." Pidge slipped out of his tech suit and threw it over his shoulder, revealing his own uniform beneath it; he didn't quite seem to grasp the concept behind workout clothes. "Lance, tell Keith I'm begging off team drills today, would you?"

Lance smirked. "Sure. I'll make sure everyone knows you and Hunk need your alone time."

"Thanks. I'll repay you by killing you in your sleep so Keith can't do it."

"Sounds like a deal." Flipping a sardonic salute, he watched the two engineers vanish and returned to his own rounds.

The castle hallways were typically deserted while he was on his run, which complicated things. On one hand, it meant he didn't have to worry about running over anyone, and that was good. On the other hand, it meant when he got hopelessly lost in the winding corridors he was on his own. This was why he hated indoor workouts... his sense of direction really wasn't much to speak of.

Flying was better. In flight you could see where you were going.

He had fairly little idea where anything was going these days, if he wanted to get philosophical about it. But really, that was just fine with him. Chaos was how Lance rolled.

* * *

><p>The members of the Voltron Force had many fine qualities. Subtlety was generally not one of them.<p>

Keith knew damned well what was going on behind his back.

He was not inclined to make an issue of it, for several reasons. First and foremost, if he knew his people had the lurking specter of an angry commander in their minds—even if they were mostly mocking it—he knew they would remember to behave. Not that he had any true concerns about his team and Allura. They might all be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he knew his warriors were honorable in this respect, if nothing else. But people were people, males were males, and it never hurt to be safe.

Secondly, if imagining him as some sort of uptight protocol maniac amused them, who was he to deny them that? There was little enough amusement on Arus right now. Hell, that was how the training dummy had wound up with a name and a personality. The smirking bastard.

Walking into the courtyard he landed a kick to the dummy's chest, just to make a point, then turned to Allura and nodded a greeting. "Morning. Been stretching?"

"Of course." Her eyes lingered on Strawman for a moment, looking for all the world like she wanted to kick it too, then went back to him. "I'm ready."

Wordlessly he nodded and gestured for her to follow, and they began their own daily jog through the hallways. Not even the princess knew every corner of the Castle of Lions yet; she'd only been sent there shortly before the Drules had attacked her world. But she knew quite a bit more than the rest of the Voltron Force, and Keith was content for their workouts to pull double duty, conditioning their newest teammate as she taught him the basics of the building's layout.

"This way." She took him down a hallway he'd never explored before, and quite possibly never would've seen if she hadn't pointed it out. "This leads to the southern balcony. It's the castle's primary observation platform."

This particular path involved a lot of stairs. Keith wondered if Allura fully grasped her own limits, or if he was just underestimating her conditioning at this point. Either way he said nothing as they started to take the stairways at a brisk jog. And after about six flights he could tell she was starting to regret this.

"Easy, Princess. Don't push too hard."

"It's... just... stairs!" She was drawing shallow breaths and sounding very irritated. "And don't... call me Princess... when... training," she added as an afterthought.

He couldn't help laughing, though he clamped down on it quickly. The whole problem that was getting him so much mockery from his teammates was that _he_ had no idea how to react to the princess, and they seemed to think he was trying to lead by example. He wasn't. But that didn't stop him from being plenty awkward on his own time.

"Sorry, Allura." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from going any further, acutely aware of what the rest of the team would say if they saw that. But he really was _trying_ to treat her as just one of the gang. At least while training. "Seriously, though. Running up stairs takes a lot more out of you than you'd think."

A faint blush crept over her cheeks, though it might've just been the fact that she was flushed from the ill-advised run. "Oh. I guess I have... more to learn than I thought." Breathing was still coming a bit shallowly. "And I already _thought_ I had... quite a bit to learn."

"You're doing great so far."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Absolutely." He frowned as he realized she was still gasping for air. "Breathe deeper, though. Very important. Get the oxygen flowing."

She nodded, and he could see her struggling to discipline herself. It was true, she _was_ learning quickly. Clearly not as quickly as she thought she ought to be learning. But she was also in pretty good shape already; at the pace she was going, he'd have expected her to have given out well before the sixth flight.

Oh yes. From a _physical_ standpoint her training was going just great. From a not-awkward standpoint, well... things were progressing. Rather slower. But progressing.

"Should we go back?" he asked once she seemed to be sufficiently cooled down.

Allura shook her head. "I'd like to show you this."

"How far up?"

"Another nine stories."

"We'll walk."

Usually Allura argued when he deemed her not ready for something, but this was not usually. She'd learned her lesson for the day. They took the rest of the stairs slowly, and by the time they emerged onto the southern balcony it was twilight. _Wait. There's no way_. Looking up Keith realized it wasn't twilight but overcast; thick black clouds were moving in. _Ah_.

Turning his gaze to the ground he saw the entirety of Green Lion's forest stretched out before them; looking to his left he could see Lake Anahita, where Blue Lion slept. Off to the right, the glow of Mount Ahriman's magma was clearly visible, masking Red Lion hidden beneath it. Yellow Lion's desert could not be seen from here, but he knew it was at their backs, the sand stretching clear and crystalline into the distance.

"This is amazing," he said softly, and meant it. Arus _was_ still a beautiful planet. And they would protect it no matter what.

Black Lion was sitting in front of the castle doors, seeming to gaze up at the approaching clouds itself. Waiting. Welcoming. Though the machine had a den inside the castle, it had been ruined by the Drule attack. The lion's presence outdoors was to be used as a lightning rod—literally. Without the generators to pour electricity into its power cells, the regal craft had to get its energy _somewhere_.

"It's going to storm," Allura observed; her gaze had gone to the ground first, and she was only now staring up at the skies with a look of concern.

Keith nodded, focused on Black Lion again. "That's fine."

* * *

><p>Green and Yellow Lions landed in the center of the scrap field, and Hunk chuckled as he watched Green's head sweep back and forth. "You weren't kidding about that armor legion. Wow." The other lion paced around the area for a minute. "But I don't see anything that looks like it could be Arusian."<p>

"Yeah, I've been talking to Coran about that. Sounds like they mostly did the infantry thing. The technomystically equipped we-will-kill-your-tanks-with-our-bare-hands kinda infantry thing. Worked okay on the crawlers, not so much on the spaceships."

"Huh. I guess that makes... uh, Hunk, why is one of that robeast's legs sitting on top of a dead tank?"

The big engineer burst into laughter as Pidge finally caught sight of his other prize. "Because I couldn't drag the rest of it!" The leg had been the only salvageable part of the monster they'd bisected a week ago; everything else had burned or disintegrated away. "I figured we could haul all the scrap we come across out here. May as well keep it in one spot, right? I've been callin' it the Hunkyard."

Pidge snorted. "Of course you have." He sounded unimpressed, so Hunk waited, because he knew his little buddy really couldn't hold out all that long. Finally, laughter rang out over his comms. "Okay, okay, I give! Well played."

"You approve?"

"Obviously." Green Lion bent over and wrestled a hulk of metal from the debris field; it looked like an APC that had been left mostly intact. "This looks like a pretty good start."

"Make a pile. We'll drag it all back to the hangar later." His first inclination was to say they could just bring the lions out here to work, but the clouds gathering on the horizon said that might be a bad idea. Hunk didn't mind working in the rain. All he asked was that there be a roof over his head while he was doing it.

Yeah, so roughing it was totally not his thing.

He had actually already installed some of the salvaged shock absorbers on his own ship, just to see how the automated systems would take it. And to make sure it actually accomplished anything. Yellow Lion rode smooth as silk no matter what, but they'd spent a little time the day before training in formation. Training as Voltron. He'd noticed a significant difference; they'd roundhouse kicked a big rock out in the desert and his ears had barely even started ringing.

Sven had punched him for that move later, which he'd probably deserved, but at least he knew the modifications _worked_. Blue Lion was next on the list.

For his own part, Hunk was coming to love working with the lions, even if the auto-repair still drove him crazy. Yellow Lion was the best, of course. He _was_ working when he skipped out of team drills to drag metal and tools all over the hangar. No question. The fact that he was also having the time of his life was entirely irrelevant.

If he was not much mistaken, Yellow was actually quite amused by the scar he'd left across its face. Could the lions be amused? He really had no idea. But he'd tried to ask the big metal cat about it one day, and was pretty sure he'd gotten a response of approval.

Either that or he was having some _really_ kickin' hallucinations.

"Hey Pidge? D'you and Green ever, um... talk?"

The other lion hesitated a moment, turned to face him. "I talk to Green on a regular basis, though in a context that I'd be pretty concerned if it started talking back. I'm assuming that isn't quite what you mean."

Discretion, as they said, was the better part of valor. Hunk did not consider himself a particularly valorous individual, but he could display discretion when called upon, and this seemed like a perfect time to _not_ mention that they'd _all_ heard a fair bit of Pidge talking to Green during training yesterday. He'd left his comms open; they'd been way too amused to point it out for quite some time.

Most of it had revolved around Lance's inability to swing a sword properly, though Red Lion's pilot was actually getting a lot better with practice. Everyone had also picked up a few Baltan swear words, and the others were going to have a lot of explaining to do when Pidge asked how that had come about.

In any case, back to business. "No, not what I mean. I've kinda tried talkin' to the yella fella in my head a few times. You know, because they talked to us when we first formed Voltron and it only seemed fair to try talking back."

And just because he wanted to see if it would work.

And because its presence was always there... and he wanted to understand that, the same way he was looking to make sense of its steel and circuitry.

But invoking fairness was a good start.

"It's been answering?"

"Not really. I mean, I sorta feel things. I think. And I'm hoping it's not just that I'm going crazy."

"Going?" Pidge was quiet for a minute, and Green Lion stilled. Then he gave a squawk of surprise. "Whoa. Either you've got me going crazy too, or you're right."

"Do you have to act so shocked?"

"Sorry. I just sort of assumed _I_ was the expert on telepathy. Y'know, by virtue of not actually being able to practice it. ...That sounds odd now that I say it out loud."

Hunk chuckled. "Go find some more scrap, would ya? You two can get acquainted while you're at it." They'd all figure their lions out at their own pace, he guessed. But if he could help rush at least his little buddy along, so much the better.

* * *

><p>Lake Anahita was a truly fascinating place. Where it met the mountains there were dozens if not hundreds of small caves, bone dry despite being underwater thanks to some oddity of pressurization. Sven had scouted out about ten of them so far, slipping from one to the next like an aquatic wraith.<p>

The caves were mostly similar, other than size and shape. The floors were a very fine sand, almost silt, and the walls were covered in glittering silicate crystals. Most of the cave walls were also home to large swaths of bioluminescent moss, granting just enough light to see by. Taken as a whole the effect was surreal... he hadn't told the others about the discovery. Better to keep these places to himself, a refuge of beauty and solitude.

Besides, none of them particularly liked swimming.

Sven theorized that it must be possible to reach all the way to Blue Lion's den with this kind of cave-hopping, but wasn't about to try it without some diving equipment. That would be silly. He'd stuck to shallow exploration for now because, well, he was sane.

Surfacing in a new cave he shook the water off himself, looked around to get the lay of the land, ran through a quick calisthenic routine to feel like he was actually working out and not just goofing off. Of course swimming was exercise, but it didn't feel enough like work. So he forced himself to at least go through the motions every time he reached a new cavern.

This cave was the smallest so far. A few patches of glowing moss had sprouted on the sand; wincing he chose not to look closer. He knew what it meant. The currents had brought death here... it didn't _smell_ of death. Maybe a characteristic of the moss. Some people would probably find that interesting, worth studying, but Sven just counted it as fortunate and moved on.

So far all the water seemed to be quite lifeless. It hadn't just been Arusian _civilization_ the Drules had devastated... huge amounts of wildlife were either dead or in hiding, perhaps wondering how to tell the danger was over. Most of the lake had been superheated by the bombardment, and schools of dead fish still washed up every so often in the caves or on the beach.

Depressing.

The danger wasn't remotely over. What surprised him more than anything was that the Drules hadn't returned _yet_. What was taking them so long?

He ran his hand through the water, closed his eyes. _Blue Lion? _There was an immediate sense of response, a faint shock that ran through his fingers. It spoke of calm, of reassurance. "Blue Lion," he whispered with a little more confidence, and the tremor ran through him again.

There was a part of him that wondered if robot lions could become impatient, because he kept tugging at the link for no particular reason. To try to understand. To be certain it was still there. Just to feel it. Wasn't this supposed to be a military operation? It was best not to get too attached to your weapons... but there was no point even entertaining that argument. The lions were so much more.

How much more? He still didn't know. Nobody knew. But he supposed they would have plenty of opportunity to figure it out; the silence from the Drules could not last much longer.

Something rumbled around him, and the water shifted slightly. He frowned. Such a sound could signal an incoming attack, but there was something not quite right about it. Something vaguely familiar that didn't speak of warfare. Waiting, motionless, he finally heard another rumble and nodded.

Thunder.

A lake was no place to be hanging out during a thunderstorm, that much was for sure. _Time to go home. _He dove back into the churning water, resurfaced under a rapidly blackening sky, and sprinted for the castle.

Home.

* * *

><p>Yurak had studied the battle footage for a week. He'd drilled his warriors relentlessly to stand against their specific foe, chosen a robeast that could perfectly counter Voltron's apparent weaknesses, though admittedly there wasn't really enough information to go on there. And he'd struck at Arus without warning, prepared to shatter their resistance.<p>

The robeast was still doing okay, at least.

His people had broken.

To see Voltron in person was something incredible, something no amount of reports and holograms could have prepared them for. They'd simulated this a dozen times, and even his own blood had still frozen for a moment when the lion demon emerged from its energy barrier and entered the battle.

For a _moment_.

His command ship had held its ground; the _Death Defiant_ was aptly named. The rest of the fleet had held initially as well, but when Voltron launched into the stormy sky and turned its blade against the first frigate it could reach, that had been the end of that. His ranks had shattered with shocking swiftness as the pilots realized the sky would not save them from the demon's grasp. One of his cruisers, the _Star Hunter_, had been gone even before the official retreat order was given.

But the admiral _had_ given the order to retreat. How could he not? The cowardice of his warriors did not please him, but at the same time he fully understood it. Commander Cossack had given him a second bit of footage, a recording he'd held back from King Zarkon. His bridge recorder. Even with only sound to go on, the terror of those watching Voltron reborn was palpable.

He'd hoped knowing what they faced would temper the fear, but apparently not so much. It would take more than he had first thought to conquer the devil.

Very well.

Still he watched, the _Death Defiant_ remaining in the Arusian atmosphere as the robeast fought. "It's only a matter of time," he muttered to his chief aide, a young warrior named Lirik who fought with skill and ferocity well beyond her years. "It doesn't have a chance."

"Pardon, sir?"

"Xindhi." He motioned to the screen, where the robeast in question was being thrown violently to the ground yet again, this time by a cyclone unleashed from Voltron's left hand. "We chose him expecting backup from the fleet. Doesn't have that now, and this rain's not helping a thing. Our sensors are fine, but you know _his_ visibility's shot." Yurak did not make excuses, but neither did he ignore obvious factors in victory or defeat. The storm raging over their target area was a significant disadvantage. Pretending otherwise would be arrogance at best, incompetence at worst.

All that could be salvaged from this fight was knowledge. But knowledge was a weapon no good commander would ever turn down.

"Sir, do you wish me to report the cowardice of the_ Star Hunter_ to Korrinoth?"

He considered this offer briefly. Very briefly. The penalty for such desertion was as simple as it was brutal. The ship's captain would be executed—slowly, painfully, an example to any others who might think to run from a battle to save their own skins. The rest of the crew would be relegated to menial labor. And any lessons they may have learned, anything they may have been taught by reviewing the experience, would be lost.

Unacceptable.

"No, Lirik. I'll deal with them myself." The ocular implant in his left eye flared crimson. "We're facing a new kind of war, and I've chosen my people. It's going to take more than one failure before I sacrifice any warriors on the altar of politics. Let the court come face Voltron if they think they'd be any braver!"

She looked mildly taken aback. "Aye, sir."

"The storm front is approaching our location. Shall we retreat, admiral?" His helmsman, a crafty old pilot known merely as Snuff for reasons nobody was quite clear on anymore, sounded like he thought this would be an excellent idea.

Yurak snorted derisively. "Absolutely not. We'll leave when Xindhi falls, and not until."

That did not take nearly as long as he would've liked. The beast stumbled back against another onslaught, and Voltron brought its hands together, forming a massive sword which swung down and split the robeast in half in one blow. The metallic abomination didn't even stop to observe its handiwork as the wreckage erupted into flame; it was moving forward. Taking flight with the _Death Defiant _in its sights.

"Retreat," Yurak ordered quietly as the knight stared up at them through the clouds. "Send an order to the fleet to regroup in deep space. We will return to Korrinoth as a defeated unit, not scattered remnants."

"Coordinates being relayed, sir. Engaging jumpgate. What shall we do with the battle footage?"

_Ah, yes_. The recordings which would prove his fleet's desertion. He made a great show of thinking about it, though he knew the answer the moment Lirik asked. "Destroy the early video, and order the rest of the fleet to do the same. Claim interference from the storms. Keep one backup for my personal use."

This time his aide looked downright startled. "Admiral Yurak, forgive me, but are you certain?"

"It's as I told you. I won't have some petty bureaucrat looking over my peoples' shoulders. Follow my orders, Master Sergeant."

"Aye sir!"

What had she expected? He couldn't help wondering that as the _Death Defiant_ vanished from the Arusian skies. He was known for being unconventional. That had won him his place at the head of the Ninth Kingdom's armada, even if it made most of the politicians squirm. In time, if all went well, it would bring this maddening god to its knees. But it was going to be harder than he'd thought.

_Very well. What's life without a challenge?_


	2. Building Up

**Arusian Crusade: Starfall**  
>Chapter 2: Building Up<p>

* * *

><p>The <em>Death Defiant<em>'s regular fleet consisted of ten capital ships, including the dreadnought itself. With reserves the number more than doubled. To assemble the full crew under Admiral Yurak's command took some doing. Especially when he wanted them to assemble with no prying eyes on them, so that he—and they—might speak frankly.

He decided to leave the reserves out for now. Logistics over all. Besides, they hadn't participated in the debacle on Arus anyway.

Of course he could've simply addressed them over the comms in their ships. Even the _Overcast_, the frigate nearly crippled by the mere touch of Voltron's sword two days before, still had a functioning speaker system. But that was somehow insufficient. He wanted to see them in person, look every one of the soldiers under his command in the eye.

Perhaps even more importantly he wanted them to see _him_. Let them look upon their commander, one of the Ninth Kingdom's greatest living heroes, the one who now bore the title Lionbane. Remind them what they fought for. Spark their pride and their courage.

"You have seen the demon." Yurak paced before his warriors, his right eye glowing gold, his implant strobing with a vicious crimson light. They had gathered in one of the vast caverns which ran beneath Korrinoth's surface, and his voice echoed powerfully from the walls. "You've stood against Voltron in combat, and you may notice that every one of you still has your souls."

Saying they'd _stood against_ Voltron might be overly generous, but there was no need to really make an issue of that. They'd seen it on the battlefield, anyway.

"We are charged with destroying the lion demon, and we will do so. Listen to me carefully. I'm aware of the rumors, and they are nothing but rumors. I'm here to tell you the reality. Heed my words, because this is the truth being spoken in the throne room of King Zarkon himself. Voltron is a lie. The lion craft are commanded by _humans, _soldiers of the Alliance."

A murmur ran through the ranks, suppressed quickly as discipline won out over reflex. Yurak hesitated before continuing. This next point wasn't really relevant to the discussion, and certainly wouldn't increase the confidence of his warriors. But it would sting their pride, and he wasn't inclined to hide information. His people needed to know all the facts. The good and the bad.

"These humans are formidable, make no mistake. They lurked undetected on Korrinoth itself, taken in transit, passing themselves off as mere slaves. A robeast died at their hands in their arena, and then they accomplished the unthinkable: they escaped our custody. Even without the lion craft, we would punish them for that."

Another round of whispers. He waited it out. Best to let them silence themselves, come to their own resolution, be prepared to hear his next words rather than still focused elsewhere.

"Voltron the Destroyer was a pillar of the Heretic Pantheon. Every one of you knows the history and the myths. The dark pantheon is made of worthy enemies, true threats to the Supremacy's order. Would even one of those wicked gods sink so low as to be commanded by humans?"

"No!" The cry rang out, scattered at first, louder as the soldiers gained confidence. "Never!"

"Then remember that! Repairs on the _Overcast_ are nearly complete, and then we will return to Arus. This time we will crush the false god where he stands! For the Supremacy!"

Their cries shook the caverns. "For the Supremacy!"

Yurak crossed his arms, watching his warriors, and wondered how long their confidence would last.

* * *

><p>Another day, another Doom fleet.<p>

This time they went ahead and formed Voltron right off the bat. No sense wasting a perfectly good live-fire training opportunity.

It was getting easier, Keith noted as the lions combined. Not just the mechanics, the physical things like which buttons to press and what switches to pull, though that was definitely improving. The psychic coordination was getting easier. He could feel it in all of them—the team was no longer having to consciously stop themselves from moving ahead. Giving their commander the lead came more naturally. For his own part, he was quicker to react when someone else took initiative, able to seize on those moments and adapt to them.

"Think we can break the ranks again?" Hunk asked as the fleet came into view. "We're still working on those IFF scanners, but it sure looks like the same ships."

"You'd think they'd learn," Lance snorted. "And this time we've gotta at least break something other than the robeast they send in as bait. Can't believe that little ship we sliced up last time actually survived it."

"What do you mean 'we', Lance? _We_ are right-handed and that was _you_ failing at swinging the sword, as usual."

"I keep asking you if you want to try it, Pidge, and you don't sound too cocky _then_."

"Um... nah, you need the practice."

Keith watched the fleet, listened to the banter, decided on their strategy. "I'm seeing two Vrock-class cruisers, same as before. Assuming they're the same ships, one of them broke ranks and jumped out in the middle of combat last time. So let's go in hard and fast. Either we take it down or we send it running, and go from there."

"Ooh, going in hard and fast, I love it when you talk like that."

"Get stuffed, Lance."

"You're only encouraging him," Sven muttered. "We going or not? Robeast just launched." Sure enough, the dark streak of a descending pen ship was visible in the sky, deploying from the Drule command vessel.

Keith took a closer look at the dreadnought; they hadn't really had a whole lot of opportunity to study it before. It definitely wasn't the _Ebon Flame_, or any other Jentilak-class for that matter. It was a Dispater, the most advanced command model in the entire Drule Supremacy. A bit of a big deal. _Zarkon's pulling out the big guns. Why would they run?_

No matter, really. "Let's move."

Voltron launched into the air, fixing its sights on one of the cruisers, which held its ground and opened fire with lasers and cannons. While the lions were normally too small and quick for capital weapon locks, in formation they were a rather larger and slower target. But also far more powerful; they shrugged off the attacks and kept going. Yellow and Blue Lions launched missiles in response.

"Robeast is on the ground. Orienting. We'll have it on our backs in give or take two minutes," Pidge reported.

_Two minutes. Plenty of time._ Keith triggered Voltron's eye beams, letting the lasers scorch the opposing cruiser for several seconds, then nodded. "Okay, let's get this done. Form Blazing Sword!"

Nobody had actually named it the Blazing Sword. The name was merely _there_, the way the formation commands had been, and it seemed more than appropriate as the glowing blade arced out. They were starting to run into the fighter cover now and that was more of a problem; with the sword active, secondary weapons became unusable, and the little darting targets were a real pain to try to slice in half.

Not that Lance wasn't trying. "Pidge, you know I can _feel_ you laughing, right?"

"Sorry, more or less." Voltron's left arm shot out and Green Lion's jaws clamped down hard on a nearby fighter, shattering it into slivers of golden metal.

"Show-off."

"Yep!"

"Yeah, well watch _this_." They sprang forward, several more fighters erupting into flame as Voltron simply plowed through their attempts to screen the capital ships. Lasers scoured nearly every inch of the robot as it lunged, to no effect whatsoever, and then they were in range.

The bridge on a Vrock-class cruiser was poorly shielded, placed overly far forward in the ship's structure. This was considered a design flaw. Admittedly, the designers probably hadn't expected a giant metal knight to be _stabbing_ the bridge when they'd put it there.

The decapitated cruiser simply stopped, dropping out of the air and slamming into the sea below with a spectacular splash. One of the frigates which had been moving in on them pulled to a dead halt as it watched the larger ship fall, which turned out to be a terrible idea as Voltron whipped around and slammed the sword down its midsection.

Something exploded inside the frigate, then something else. It went down, but not near as cleanly as the cruiser had, and by that time the rest of the fleet was pulling back.

"Robeast incoming."

Keith studied the damage displays. They'd taken some solid hits this time, but nothing too awful, and the approaching robeast's flight seemed a little tentative. "Stay in the air, I think we've got an advantage up here."

"Stay in the air. I love it when you talk like _that_, too." Lance leveled the Blazing Sword at the oncoming monster. "Let's break this thing."

They did just that.

* * *

><p>After a month of conditioning and two weeks of basic martial training, Allura felt confident enough to take a shot at sparring with one of the team members. Keith hadn't thought too highly of the idea, but she'd insisted. Oh, no doubt she would be defeated in short order, but how much more could punching Strawman really accomplish? The commander had finally acquiesced, and so she found herself here in the castle courtyard, her heart pounding rapidly as she tried to remember everything he'd taught her at once.<p>

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Keith." Sven was standing opposite her, body relaxed but eyes nervous; he'd been chosen as her opponent.

Keith nodded. "I don't think it's a good idea either. Argue with her."

Allura prepared herself to defend her position yet again, and was surprised when Sven frowned at his commander. "No, I think she's right about getting some practical experience. I just don't think I'm the person to start with."

Well that was interesting. She hoped it wasn't qualms about hitting a girl. "It's okay, Sven." She offered him an encouraging smile. "I know I asked for it. Just think of me as one of the guys, alright?"

He muttered something in the harsh language she recognized as his native tongue; his unease hadn't faded in the least.

Keith gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Look, Sven, I'm sorry, but the fact remains you can't win a friendly sparring match to save your life. So give it a solid shot and let's see how she does. Okay?"

Allura reminded herself not to be insulted. It made perfect sense to start her off against the team's weakest combatant—though she really hadn't expected their navigator to be the one carrying that mantle.

"You don't understand..." Sven looked at Keith, who was spearing him with an unmistakable _this-has-gone-far-enough _look, then sighed and turned his attention to Allura. "Fine, let's get this over with."

All this sunny optimism was not helping her own tension... she took up a combat stance before she could lose her nerve. "I'm ready."

He took a steadying breath, nodded. Their eyes locked.

The icy aura he carried with him expanded in a burst of spiritual force, sinking deadly cold talons into her chest. Panic overrode sense and she lashed out rather than focusing to break it. Flailing. Helpless. She knew better, but it was so _cold_, and she couldn't tear her gaze away. She was being dragged into the abyss, drowning in blackness, falling...

Falling...

She was vaguely aware of striking the ground and looking up as the two pilots rushed forward.

Keith whirled on his second, eyes a fearsome mix of ice and blue-hot flame. "What the hell did you do, Sven?"

"I can't help it!" Sven's tone was an odd combination of indignant and apologetic. "That's exactly what I was trying to tell you... though I didn't expect to hit her _that_ hard." He turned away from his commander and knelt next to the fallen princess. "Are you alright?"

She expected his touch to be ice cold, and it took a few moments for her to comprehend that it was gone. That he was human again, not the frozen maelstrom who'd sent her to the ground. "I'm fine. Or at least I will be in a minute or two."

Then Keith was on the other side of her, hands on her arm, alternating between looking at her with concern and shooting dark looks at Sven. "Just try to relax."

Replaying the moment in her mind, Allura felt a flush of embarrassment starting to creep over her. The last thing she'd expected was to have to use any mental filtering in a physical contest, but why in the world wouldn't she? Most warriors were filled with wild emotion when they fought. By the standards of a real psychic attack, the aura Sven projected had been weak and downright clumsy. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..."

"What are _you_ apologizing for?" Keith scowled. "It's not your fault _someone_ here doesn't understand the concept of a practice—"

Allura raised a hand to silence him. "Calm down, Keith. Please. I try to keep myself attuned to my surroundings, and didn't even think about how that might affect me in combat." She pulled away from the two pilots and climbed back to her feet. "I'm a spirit talker, remember? These things affect me more deeply if I'm not careful."

Keith was still glaring at his second, though he seemed to have come out of it a bit when Allura stood. "Is there some particular reason you didn't turn that off, Sven?"

"Same reason I don't _turn it off_ when I'm fighting with you, even though you know to ignore it. It doesn't work that way." Sven sighed, offered Allura another apologetic look and an explanation. "I don't read hand to hand combat very well, but I do apparently get frightening when I focus. Usually it just tends to unnerve people long enough to let me hit them." Shrug. "It wasn't intentional. I'm sorry."

Honestly she wished he'd stop apologizing. She hadn't expected to come out of this unscathed, and he'd taught her a valuable lesson, no matter how unintentional it may have been. "All forgiven... if you'll stop saying how sorry you are and give me another shot."

Keith scowled, but Sven nodded. "Alright."

* * *

><p>The last battle with the Drules had mostly taken place over the ocean, which was a little disappointing. After all, that cruiser they'd downed had been nearly intact, and the Hunkyard could always use new additions. Oh well; nothing to be done for it, seeing as how they probably couldn't convince the forces of Doom to cooperate on proper combat terrain.<p>

Plenty of scrap left, besides.

Ripping out the boring practical components from the wrecked Drule tanks was leaving them with all kinds of weaponry laying about. Since it was his personal theory that nothing capable of burning, piercing, or exploding should ever go to waste, Hunk had started retooling the weapon mounts in his spare time. With a little effort and some programming help from Pidge, he could get these things functioning as autonomous turrets, and they could start giving the Castle of Lions some pretty epic defensive capabilities.

It was a side project; at the moment they were still working on those much-needed shock absorbers. He'd really wanted to kick some things earlier. Presently Blue Lion sat in the hangar, accepting the operation with complete mechanical indifference.

Indifferent _now_. It hadn't been so indifferent earlier, when Sven had handed him the key and told him to go ahead and pull the lion from its watery den. Hunk shook his head at the memory. He'd sat in the cockpit, placed the key in its slot, and been rocked by a roar that threatened to throw him right out of his seat.

The lion had calmed after that, but its controls had seemed sluggish on the short flight from the lake to the castle. Almost as if the damned thing were protesting his presence.

He fully intended to make Sven fly it back.

Pidge was in the cockpit right now with Blue the mouse, monitoring the installation. Allegedly. Hunk was pretty sure the little engineer was spending a lot more time poking through databanks than actually paying any attention to what he was doing with the shock absorbers, but whatever made him happy. As long as nothing broke, anyway.

And maybe it would be useful. "You findin' anything interesting, little buddy?"

"Very. I think I've figured out where the lions keep the data on omega protocols, so I can access it without being in formation." Mostly out of habit, the team still referred to the Voltron formation as omega protocols fairly often. Especially from a technical standpoint. "Been going all through Green's, it's interesting to see what Blue has in common with it."

"Any of it make sense?"

"Very little. So far."

Hunk shrugged and went back to bolting things to the hull. "I don't suppose it's tellin' you why it got so grouchy on me earlier? Yellow never freaks out like that."

"I bet Yellow would freak out if someone other than you were trying to fly it. The lions seem a little possessive."

"Blue took to Lance okay."

A brief silence. Either Pidge was busy with his monitors or was trying to figure out what Hunk was referring to. Then, "Yeah, I know. Black didn't mind me then either, but I bet it would mind me now. Lance was piloting Blue _before_ we formed Voltron, remember? That's when it happened."

Good point. Hunk hadn't thought about it that way... hadn't thought about when the bond _started_, because by now it felt like it had always been there. Him and Yellow Lion. Best friends forever. It really hadn't been that long at all, it just felt like it.

"This is interesting," Pidge commented as the big pilot was putting the last dampener in place.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. There's some kind of major weapon system in the coding here that's accessed by Voltron. I can't make a whole lot of sense of it and Blue—er, mouse-Blue—isn't much help, but I found something similar in Green's programming and just assumed it was for the Blazing Sword. Blue shouldn't have anything for that... can you come up here? I want you to have a look."

Programming wasn't really his area of expertise, but if Pidge wanted him to look, he would look. The little engineer undoubtedly had his reasons. "Sure. Gimme a minute." Hunk finished bolting the dampener down and walked to Blue's gaping jaws, patting the lion on the snout as he climbed over its fangs. "And try to relax, Big Blue, not flying you again. I'll get your buddy Sven back here for that."

He thought the lion might've growled its approval.

* * *

><p>The princess had survived. Champions had arrived from the Alliance. Word was spreading.<p>

And so they came.

Nanny leaned out over the southern balcony and watched the encampments going up, encampments of people who hadn't dared to set foot outside the caverns for weeks or even months. They streamed in from all corners of the Yazata province. Not coming to stay. Merely to see... to look upon Black Lion where it stood watching over their tents, to offer any aid they could as the planet slowly began to rebuild.

She'd been down to the encampment several times herself, distributing food and supplies to people who'd been starving and ragged for far too long. It amazed her to see them. They'd lost everything and still came to offer their princess what little they had left. But at the same time it was no shock at all. The Arusian people were strong.

And she'd done the same herself, hadn't she?

The Voltron Force, at least some of them, had been mingling with the people as well. Learning about those they had come to protect. And occasionally—no, quite often really—enlisting them to help with the repairs to the castle. They'd been hesitant to ask for help at first, but the people considered such duty to be an honor. As much as they'd all suffered, having a _purpose_ was something wonderful.

And so they worked, and they rebuilt, and the Castle of Lions slowly became a fortress that would symbolize Arus reborn.

Nanny wasn't yet sure what to make of the warriors. She'd watched them fight, throwing themselves into the defense of this planet with a fervor she wouldn't have imagined from Alliance soldiers at all. The idea that alien warriors from a distant galaxy—barely a step higher than mercenaries—could show the same loyalty and determination of native Arusian troops had always struck her as silly.

They were not to be blamed for it if that were the case. It was simply the way of things. But she'd stopped questioning them on such counts the first time she saw the lions in flight, realized they were truly prepared to give everything for her world.

Now she was just questioning what they were doing to her Allura.

'Her' Allura. Yes. Because they'd been acquainted for all of two and a half months, certainly that merited a possessive. But the princess had lost her whole family when the Drules came. She'd paced the corridors like a ghost herself, alone, aimless. Nanny had taken the young woman under her wing because _someone_ had to do it. Because she was on track to join the rest of the bodies in the catacombs if something didn't occupy her mind.

And then suddenly there were the pilots, the Arusian Expeditionary Force, the Voltron Force. Nanny still couldn't figure out what to make of them. Professional killers? Champions of Arus? Honorable warriors? Irreverent hooligans?

All of the above.

Little enough need to wonder about Hunk, who hid nothing. How in the world did a _soldier_ learn to make such exquisite food, really? She'd heard much of his incredible artistry with mechanical things, and wondered if it was all the same principle. And the massive pilot had the nerve to challenge her in her own domain. So brazen. But he was still calling her Lady Nanny, as if he couldn't quite get himself around being so casual with his domestic rival.

Pidge was peculiar. Training a child as a soldier was so _peculiar_. To suggest such a thing around him only resulted in confusion, as if he simply didn't see how age played into it. He seemed to have no concept of deference, and this fact made Allura so happy—she'd mentioned more than once how much she enjoyed the little warrior's company, how she was swiftly coming to see him as the younger brother she'd never had. It surely couldn't hurt. Could it?

Lance... Lance. Nanny sighed even thinking of him. He redefined the word _impertinent_ and seemed to take great pride in doing so. Such a terrible influence. Didn't help that he kept coming up in Allura's comments on the team, his warmth and his shining eyes and the fact that he, like Pidge, had never tiptoed around her. But of all the warriors he seemed the most vehement about taking the fight to Doom, avenging their atrocities. That had to count for something.

Sven was as cool and reserved as Lance was hot and brash. She didn't know much about him; he had a talent for making himself scarce unless alarms were sounding. Naturally, since he seemed rather less disagreeable than his companions could be. Though if she was understanding correctly, he was also responsible for most of the bruises Allura had taken in training recently. Which meant he was encouraging that nonsense as well.

And then there was Keith. The commander, the knight in shining armor. On the one hand, he seemed to hold Arus and its royalty in great reverence. On the other hand he was taking the lead in Allura's combat training when he should have been talking her out of it. Nanny sighed. The commander was clever and practical; she couldn't fault him for taking a new volunteer into his small team. And when the princess spoke of how attractive he was, Nanny couldn't bring herself to caution against such thoughts, because Keith might be a bad influence but he was no unworthy ruffian.

The warriors were good for Allura. She could see that so clearly, couldn't deny it. But the princess needed not to forget her proper role as well. And Nanny... well... Nanny needed to feel like she was still needed. All of _her_ people were dead, after all. She had no one to watch over but those in this castle, most of all the princess who had lost every connection to her past but the ghosts...

"Nanny! I've been looking all over for you."

She jumped at the voice from behind her. "Ach, Princess! Don't startle me so."

"Sorry." She was wearing a formal gown of blue, the color she'd favored before the attack, and Nanny tried not to stare despite her shock. Other than the gray and near-black training uniform, it was the first time she'd seen the princess out of mourning colors since the Drules struck. Only the pendant around her neck still bore a pink sapphire, but she _was_ a spirit talker. Wearing such a mark was customary for the role.

"You're dressed as if you expect to hold an audience," Nanny observed cautiously.

"In a sense." Allura leaned over the balcony herself and looked down at the tents arranged on the grass. "I thought I might go down to the encampment with you today. The people of Arus have suffered so greatly... I want to talk to them. To tell them myself that there's hope again."

Nanny smiled. Maybe she'd been worrying too much. "Of course, Princess."

* * *

><p>Another day, another Doom fleet.<p>

The Drules were persistent if nothing else.

Voltron met them in the sky this time, roaring a challenge, focusing on the dreadnought which was leading its companions—and that was unusual in itself. The command ships usually lurked _behind_ their comrades, cowering like overfed rats.

Turned out the damned things packed a lot of firepower when they could be bothered to lead an assault; even Voltron rocked violently under the dreadnought's full barrage. _Ouch_. Lance shook his head until the stars flickering before his eyes faded. "How about we not stand still for that again?"

"Good call."

"Hey Keith, Pidge and I've got something we wanna test out." Hunk was not exactly _asking_, Lance noted. More like announcing that they were going to test whatever it was and Keith could either run with it or be dragged along for the ride. Could be fun, either way. Hunk testing things usually resulted in a wonderfully epic quantity of carnage.

"Go for it," their commander agreed, a hint of trepidation in his voice. No doubt he was thinking the same thing.

Lance felt a slight tug at the back of his mind, reached up and hit a few switches as he came to understand what was going on. Though it didn't make a whole lot of sense to him... he'd practically just carried out the formation of the Blazing Sword, which had nothing to do with Hunk whatsoever, short of sucking all of Yellow Lion's weapons power right up.

But _something_ was happening; he felt his ship shaking as it roared. The crest on Voltron's chest glowed yellow for a moment, and spheres of golden energy gathered in Red and Green Lions' jaws, solidifying into two massive, spiked balls of iron which extended from chains anchored within the lions' mouths.

"Oh, _awesome_." Hunk was the first to recover from the shock. "We've got ginormous maces!"

"Those are technically flails," Keith corrected.

"Ginormous flails, then."

"Ginormous is not a word." Their commander's tone was so deadpan Lance knew, without any psi link needing to be involved at all, that he was actually forcing himself not to crack up.

Hunk sounded thoroughly amused himself. "Okay, epic flails!"

"Are you guys seriously having a semantic argument about spiky wrecking balls?" Pidge demanded, shutting them up.

"Did you have to stop them?" Sven complained. "I was enjoying that."

Lance smirked. Much as he'd been entertained by the debate as well, he had to agree with Pidge on one count. There were much better ways to use spiky wrecking balls than arguing about what they were called. Drawing back, winding up, he snapped Red Lion forward and the right-hand mace cut a swath of death through the onrushing fighter swarms. "Okay, this is _sweet_."

Green Lion mimicked the gesture and took out another dozen fighters, and the rest wisely opted not to fly right in front of Voltron anymore. Actually they were fleeing back to the capital ships, but the dreadnought was still closing, and opened up with another full volley to avenge its support craft.

This time they darted to the side, dodging much of the attack, but still taking several hits along Voltron's left side. "I think these guys are getting braver." Almost before Hunk finished speaking one of the Drule frigates broke ranks, darting forward on a collision course.

"Are you serious?"

No time to think. No time to move. Lance felt Keith reacting, joined in the movement, lashed out with the mace or flail or whatever the hell it was again and caught the incoming frigate squarely across its bow. He noted the left hand matching his movement, realized what was going to happen an instant before making the move. Slamming on a switch, he forced the chains to withdraw.

Both weapons being deeply embedded in the ships armor, what _actually_ happened was Voltron shot forward rather than the spiked spheres returning to its hands. The knight smashed feet-first into the ship, crushing through the bow and most of the forward decks and finally coming to a halt as the ship exploded around them.

Lance gritted his teeth as Red Lion trembled, some intellectual part of him wondering why he wasn't being thrown all over the cockpit. Probably some technomystical thing that would give him a headache if someone explained it. The lions really _were_ pretty awesome like that.

"Everyone okay?" Keith sounded a little dazed himself.

"Mostly. Mijtairra." Lance had heard Pidge use the word _mijtairra_ several times before. He didn't know which dialect it was, but he knew it wasn't polite. "That's Sryka'te and I think it's roughly equivalent to 'son of a bitch', Lance."

"You got me wondering about that through the psi link?"

"No, I just know you collect those things."

Lance smirked. He _did_ pride himself on his ability to speak in seventeen languages, even if his word choices for fifteen of them were very situational.

Sven and Hunk remained quiet, and that was at least unusual for one of them. As the debris cloud around Voltron began to thin out, it became clear what they were up to; the maces shimmered out of existence, and Voltron's crest glowed blue. Red and Green Lions slammed together to produce a massive double-ended trident, still faintly glowing as the initial energy surge faded.

"Hm. That seems appropriate." Sven's tone was more curious than anything. "Not very creative, but appropriate."

"You don't impress very easily, do you?"

"No. Let's see what happens when we hit something with it."

The trident was most definitely a two-handed weapon, and Lance and Pidge fought briefly with trying to maneuver it before sorting things out. Turned out they didn't have to hit anything with it at all, though; upon pointing it at the nearest fighter squad the trident's prongs flared blue, and a beam of energy shot out which trapped the entire squadron in a block of ice that hovered, just for a moment, before plunging into the ocean.

"Okay, I'm impressed now," Sven declared, calm as ever.

He wasn't the only one; the Drules had seen enough. They ran.

That was becoming a pretty gratifying habit.

* * *

><p>The attacks had become more frequent, but oddly less intense. They hadn't seen a robeast in weeks, and Keith didn't like it. Something was going on. Something <em>had<em> to be. The fleet kept changing tactics, sometimes doing damage, sometimes fleeing early into the encounter. It didn't make sense.

He was missing something.

As more people flocked to the Castle of Lions, Allura had insisted on spending more and more time at the encampment. It was close to becoming a permanent settlement, and Keith didn't like that either. There was no cover there, in the narrow field that stretched between the castle and the forest, and the Drules couldn't miss it for long. The civilians would be very vulnerable camped out right next to such a major target.

The castle had actually taken some shots today, from a fighter squadron that had managed to sneak behind Voltron and open up against the structure. They'd met a nasty surprise there, though; Hunk had somehow managed to dig up enough weapons to fit the entire castle's exterior with turrets. And not just any weapons... _Drule_ weapons.

Part of him really wished he could've seen the enemy commander's face when those opened fire.

The castle defenses had made quick work of the fighters... this time. But he'd ordered a full review of the building regardless. That was why he found himself circling the Castle of Lions in the twilight. Even though as commander of the Voltron Force he should have been making himself visible to the people, just as the princess was now despite the late hour.

He _had_ tried. He'd moved through the tents and blankets and carts, anything the survivors could drag with them on their pilgrimages. He'd spoken, but mostly he'd listened. And what he heard unnerved him deeply.

Better to have something else to do.

Red Lion stood over the encampment now, a silent sentinel that promised no harm would come from the skies, Lance sprawled out on his lion's head watching the proceedings. On the ground, Hunk was playing a game with some children, while Pidge was sitting on a rock talking to one of the mice. Neither looked like the warriors they were, and neither would hesitate to strike if anything so much as looked at the princess funny. She was in good hands... much as it pained him not to be there protecting her himself, Keith kept up his patrol around the castle. This was much more important right now.

As he lost sight of the encampment, a shadow in a black flight suit appeared next to him. "All done."

"How is it?"

"Not too bad. Most of the twelfth story turrets on the western face are going to need repairs. One on the eleventh. Hunk can probably finish it in an hour." Sven fell into step beside him. "Didn't take a manual inspection."

"I feel better with one."

"No doubt." The black-clad warrior hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder. "Keith, what's bothering you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't, but I'd still like an answer."

_Of course you would. _Keith sighed. "Fine." There was a reason he kept Sven at his right hand, but the quiet man could be infuriating for the very same reasons he was so valuable. There was nothing to be done for it... he needed his friend more than ever right now. "This does not go beyond the two of us."

"Of course."

"What the hell are we doing, Sven?" He shook himself free of Sven's hold and gestured widely. "We were sent here to pilot a few advanced fighter craft, under the auspices of the Alliance and the command of King Alfor. That was _it_."

"Overtaken by events," his companion shrugged.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. We lose contact because of a little glitch-up in transit and suddenly Alfor's gone, Arus is destroyed, and here _we_ are trying to protect the last of a doomed monarchy and rebuild a broken planet. Seriously? We weren't trained for this." He sighed, clenched his fists in frustration. "We're in over our heads. You know it as well as I do. Sooner or later it's going to catch up with us, and what happens then?"

"We both know if I answer that, its going to be the same conclusion you've come to already."

"I want to hear it from you."

Sven's dark eyes lingered on him for a few moments, then the other pilot nodded and gestured for him to follow. They moved to the very edge of the cliff, overlooking the lake. "We go on," he said finally, softly. "It's the only thing we _can_ do. Either we protect this world or we die trying."

Exactly what Keith had already been thinking, just as his second had said. But... "It's not an option to die trying. You haven't been out there. You haven't heard them talking. These people think we're going to save much more than their planet."

His friend arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"They know the legends. They're creating their own. I've heard at least a dozen people who believe Voltron's going to save the _universe_."

"Oh really." Sven's tone was suddenly derisive. "And let me guess, you're worried about trying to live up to that nonsense? Ignore it, Keith. Let them be misguided on their own time."

Keith blinked. He'd considered those rumors to be asking quite a bit, putting a lot of undue pressure on himself and his team. But he wouldn't have dreamed of turning such _contempt_ on the idea. "Uh... did I just miss something?"

A brief hesitation as Sven seemed to realize he'd just sort of snapped. "Maybe. Sorry." He gestured out over the cliff, and Keith initially thought he was indicating the lake, but then realized his friend's eyes were fixed above, on the stars. "What exactly do they expect us to save the universe from? The Drules?"

"That seems to be the idea, yeah."

Sven snorted. "No doubt. Look out there, Keith. Those stars have seen more civilizations rise and fall than any of us can dream of. They don't care. The Drules can blast every Alliance world to bedrock and the universe will continue to take care of itself just fine."

_...Of course. What did you expect? He _is_ a navigator, after all_. "Then what are we fighting for?"

"You don't need to ask me that, either."

"No, I just want to hear what the answer is in that excessively cynical brain of yours."

His words had the desired effect; Sven laughed. "My answer isn't your answer, Keith. We both know that too. You're fighting for the people... for the Alliance. That's quite enough pressure on you without bringing the universe into it."

"And you?"

Eyes blacker than the night sky lowered, focused on the lake. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Is the team really all you have, Sven?"

A faint smile. "It's all I need, Keith."

* * *

><p>It was a learning process, going up against Voltron. Learning that the knight could only track so many targets at once. Learning its capabilities and weapons by being on the receiving end. Learning that the lions were formidable, but only when they combined did they strike such fear into the hearts of his people that they broke. Outright fleeing was rare now, but combat reflexes were poor. Morale was low, terribly low.<p>

Yurak was feeling it himself. He'd lost a dozen good ships, thousands of fine warriors, and he was well and truly sick of learning.

Which brought him here.

"Sire." He knelt before the throne. "I require more resources for the mission on Arus."

King Zarkon's eyes gleamed, displeased, but the admiral took little notice of it. He'd known that would be coming. "The full armada of the Ninth Kingdom is at your disposal, Admiral Yurak. What _more_ could you possibly require?"

"A different approach." He raised his head. "The armada isn't having any success, as you're well aware. Warships aren't built for this kind of battle. Voltron is powerful, but the lions share the same weakness as any other spacecraft: without a crew they're just helpless hulks of metal. I require the services of an assassin."

Assassins were not highly looked upon in the Supremacy, and that was putting it mildly. To kill from the shadows was dishonorable; to hire another to do your dirty work for you was embarrassing. But such agents of death had their purposes. To employ one so directly in the service of the Ninth Kingdom was not unheard of, but it _was_ something only the king could permit.

If he was feeling generous.

Or if he was feeling desperate.

Zarkon regarded his warrior coolly for quite some time, then shook his head. "Your reasoning is sound, Admiral. But I will not have the glory of Voltron's defeat tainted in any way by the touch of such _filth_. An assassin is out of the question. However..." The king cocked his head. "You're onto something, Yurak. Facing the humans without their lions may be the key. I will leave it to you, but I suggest you consult with Haggar. You know how formidable the former slaves can be on the ground."

"As you command, sire."

He'd actually have preferred not to deal with Haggar at all. His last few strikes against Arus he hadn't even bothered taking a robeast along. To his people, he'd snarled that they weren't going to hide behind the war constructs until they got their own act together. In his own mind he knew the truth. The witch had been getting impatient with how he kept burning through her masterworks.

It was rather difficult to tell her moods by looking at her, with the shroud she wore masking all but her glowing eyes, but he felt quite sure she wasn't pleased to see him when he entered her laboratory. "Admiral Yurak." Her tone was cool, just one step short of insolent. He didn't care for it, not that he really had the standing to demand respect from this enigmatic creature.

"I'm here on King Zarkon's direct orders." She needn't respect _him_. But she would respect their lord.

"Of course." A slight bow as her demeanor thawed, just slightly. "How may I aid you?"

"I want to draw the humans into a ground battle. Not my strongest point, you understand, so he thought you might be able to help."

Haggar considered this for a long time. Almost too long. Yurak crossed his arms and waited, doing his best to pretend he was quite a lot more patient than she knew he really was. If this was a test—of _course_ this was a test—he found it rather petty, given the stakes. But perhaps she had her reasons. And if not, he could still humor her.

Politics were all foolishness, but he knew how to navigate such waters.

"The humans have defeated a robeast on the ground, with only the resources of slaves," she said finally. "Now their resources have changed. You will require something more drastic."

"Indeed."

"I will accompany you."

It had been a long time since Yurak had been shocked enough to show it, but his jaw dropped at that. "You're going to... excuse me? I think I must have misheard."

"There is nothing wrong with your hearing, Admiral. I will prepare a robeast for extra certainty, but if you wish to ensure success, I will go to Arus and strike these upstart apes down personally. Will you find this assistance sufficient?"

"M... more than sufficient, yes." She had already turned away and was running her fingers over a crystalline artifact in a corner of the room. "I'll leave you to your preparations then."

As far as Yurak knew, Haggar had not left Korrinoth for anything but Supremacy Council meetings for three hundred years. Well beyond living memory for anyone in the Ninth Kingdom. And yet she had offered—no, _demanded_—to venture to Arus so swiftly...

Maybe he'd been underestimating the humans after all.

No matter. They were doomed now.


	3. Sacrificial Lion

**Arusian Crusade: Starfall**  
>Chapter 3: Sacrificial Lion<p>

_Allegedly, the proper name of Green Voltron's shield in VF is the Boomerang Shield. But I don't like that name and it's my fanfic so ha. There's not gonna be any Titanic Trident either.  
><em>_Also, any misrepresentation of the kuji-in should be attributed to Sven's incomplete knowledge, not the fact that the Wiki page is a train wreck...  
><em>_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Another day, another Doom fleet.<p>

It was starting to get silly.

"You know, I'm sure I remember something about how the definition of insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different result," Lance muttered as Voltron hovered before the castle, waiting for the fleet to approach.

"It _doesn't_ seem to make much sense." Keith couldn't bring himself to match Lance's derisive tone, though he felt a bit of it himself. The tactics did change. It wasn't complete repetition. But still, he'd have expected something much more strikingly different by this point—the Ninth Kingdom couldn't afford to keep throwing its troops into the grinder like this.

No military ever truly could.

"Pidge, Hunk, you two get those IFF scanners working yet?"

"Mmhmm. Reading the command ship as the Dispater-class _Death Defiant. _Tagging the others."

"Capital ships are hanging back. Fighters incoming."

"Lance, you want to take this?"

"Do I ever. Draw Magma Pistols!"

They'd tested the new weapons as thoroughly as possible, though it was still hard to do serious training without anything to actually fight. Strawman probably wouldn't stand up too well to Voltron. As best they could tell, these weapons were rather less powerful than the Blazing Sword, but made up for it by allowing the use of secondary armaments while active. Always a plus.

Red Lion's weapons flared into existence now, twin heavy pistols that shot bolts of lava into the incoming fighter squadrons, melting some, solidifying over others and dropping them to the ground in a blanket of hot stone. "I love this so much," Lance chuckled.

"Almost isn't fair," Pidge agreed as the left-hand gun knocked another squad out of the sky.

"No, no, it _definitely_ isn't fair, that's half the fun."

Yellow and Blue Lions started launching smoke grenades as the capital ships drew closer, funneling the fighters into a smaller area, blocking the fields of fire for their backup. "What are they even trying to do?" Sven asked. "They know by now their fighters aren't even a match for the lions, let alone Voltron. If they aren't going to rush in and cover them, what's the point of launching?"

"Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake, Sven."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Napoleon, Hunk?"

"Hey, I didn't skip _every_ military history class—"

"—Not for lack of effort," Pidge interjected—

"—Just most of 'em."

The dreadnought—the _Death Defiant_—had led the last few attacks, but now it was hanging well behind its fleet. Keith didn't like that at all, though he was happy enough not to deal with the command ship's firepower. Sven was right about the strangeness of the tactics, and Hunk was right about taking advantage of such nonsense. But still. He wanted to know why.

_Needed_ to know why.

A cruiser flagged as the _Six-Winged Shrike_ moved ahead of its comrades. It was an Orobas-class, a ship Keith actually knew very little about; the model was rarely encountered by the Alliance, but known to see quite a bit more use on the rare occasions when the Drule kingdoms skirmished with each other. Its rarity was due to its primary purpose of punching through dreadnoughts. The Alliance simply didn't tend to build ships that big.

The enemy commander was apparently seeing Voltron as a dreadnought-level threat, and that was probably wise.

"Watch that front cruiser, it might be able to poke some holes in us."

"Hmph." Pidge sounded unconvinced. "Let's see it poke holes in _this_." The pistols vanished and a green glow gathered at Voltron's chest. "Form Cyclonic Shield!"

Not a moment too soon; sensors were shrieking about a weapons lock from the cruiser, and as Voltron raised its shield the Drule ship opened fire. Keith's jaw dropped, and he had vague impressions of shock from the others as well. The cruiser's frame had actually _shuddered_ from the energy as it unleashed its weapons. For a warship that was unheard of...

Studying the recordings and databases later, he would determine there had been six heavy railguns and a gamma laser involved in the barrage. For the moment all he was certain of was that the impact knocked Voltron from the sky, and it was all he and the team could do to force the robot to land on its feet.

"Holy hells," Lance muttered.

"Yeah," Hunk agreed. "That... woulda poked a holy hole in us."

"They dented my shield." Pidge sounded insulted. He was right; the spiked emerald disc now had a good-sized gouge in the front of it. Good-sized by giant robot standards, which was really quite large indeed. "I'm gonna dent them back."

A tug from Green Lion. Good as his word, the little pilot was taking the lead. Keith nodded, acquiescing and moving Black Lion into the action, and Voltron drew back as the shield crackled with energy. A wall of swirling wind gathered around the disc as well, and after charging it for a few moments, they threw the shield with all of Voltron's technomystical might.

The _Six-Winged Shrike_ had been readying for a second shot, and was woefully unprepared to have a whirling vortex of emerald death come crashing into its bow. The blow caused the cruiser to shudder again, and as the shield bounced back the Drules seemed to decide they'd had more than enough for one day. They fled, again.

Too easy. Still far too easy. Even easier than usual this time, and that made him even more concerned than usual.

"Okay, team. Let's go back... but I want everyone on high alert. That was even stranger than normal, and I don't like it one bit."

* * *

><p><em>And so it begins.<em>

Haggar had to admit to being impressed. She'd watched the tail end of the battle between the fleet and Voltron, and the Destroyer was every bit as fearsome and imposing as advertised. It had taken a full volley from an Orobas with nothing to show for it but a little stumble... yes, she could see why Admiral Yurak, and Commander Cossack before him, had been having so much trouble.

Targeting the pilots was wise. Once Arus was burning, the lions could be dealt with, taken into the custody of the Ninth Kingdom and dismantled so thoroughly there would never be any question of Voltron returning.

Pragmatism suggested keeping the lions intact, of course. Wielding Voltron in the name of the Drule Supremacy. But there was pragmatism and then there was piety, not to mention the sheer distrust that such beasts would obey their new masters. Finding five pilots for the craft would prove quite impossible.

None of this was really her concern anyway. Idle thoughts as she waited.

She turned to the robeast accompanying her, a skeletal blue monstrosity with a dozen spikes jutting from its carapace. "Galcia, remain here. Hide as best you can." They'd come down in some lightly wooded foothills, shrouded by the _Death Defiant_'s fighter compliment and Voltron's own smokescreen. "I'm going to scout and find a suitable ambush site."

Scouting. Such work was probably beneath her, but she was much better suited for it than the hulking robeast, and for Haggar pragmatism truly _did_ trump all.

"I hide," the robeast agreed calmly. She'd chosen Galcia for his patience and composure. "If discovered, I kill?"

"Capture. Kill only if necessary."

"If discovered, I capture. If needed, I kill. As commanded."

"Just so." She nodded and moved into the woods.

There wasn't much to see here; the trees thickened in the distance as they neared the castle. Haggar had noted what looked like a small civilian encampment in the narrow strip of field between the castle and the forest, and that would be a promising place to set the bait when the time came, but she certainly didn't want a battle there. Slaughtering the sheep would bring the shepherds in full force.

Besides, it was King Zarkon's stated policy to avoid civilian massacres whenever possible. Such things inflamed the defenders and resulted in fewer slaves from a conquered world. Of course Arus had already been bombed beyond the point Zarkon preferred, but there had been extenuating circumstances in that case.

Clearly they should've killed _more_.

Haggar found herself enjoying the forest. It was quiet and soothing, the leaves occasionally rustling from a gentle breeze, a soft emerald glow filtering in through the leaves above. Such a stark contrast from the overcast gloom of Korrinoth. That world had its own charm—especially to a daughter of the chaos goddess—but there was much to be said for occasionally walking in the light. Perhaps she would have to venture to other planets more often.

At one point, though, the beauty of the forest was marred. The trees became charred and blackened, surrounding a scorched clearing where only a scattered handful of sprouts still poked out of the ground. _Must have been hit in the initial bombardment_. Murmuring an invocation she sought out the past of this clearing, nodded in satisfaction. She was the first to set foot in this place since the trees had been burned away.

It would do. It would do quite nicely.

Something flared at the edge of her senses and she whirled. Something approaching. Close, so close. How could anyone possibly have come so _close_...

"Mrow?"

As quickly as they'd erupted into action, all her combat reflexes stilled, and the witch allowed herself a slight chuckle as she looked down. A furry black form had come up behind her and was now rubbing its head against the fringes of her robes, purring. "You ought not be here, little one. This place will know blood and danger soon."

"Mrryat." The cat looked up at her with wide green-gold eyes, as if it understood her words, then reached up and pawed at her leg. "Myaow!"

_Well then. _Any number of spells could have rid her of the creature, sent it fleeing in fear. But Haggar found herself studying it more closely, its claws and fangs and sleek, strong body. A beast built perfectly for speed and stealth and scouting. A beast that could lurk undetected where she could not, raising no suspicions...

She knelt and reached one gnarled hand out to the cat, which looked up and sniffed her fingers cautiously. "Myat?"

"Do you wish to aid me, little one?"

It licked her hand. She would take that as a yes.

* * *

><p>Allura had taken to jogging around the lake in the twilight. The scenery was much more interesting than just running through the halls of the castle, and she didn't have to worry about ridiculous things like stairs. Of course there was the river—the rushing rapids which led all the way from the lake to the Greater Arusian Ocean. At one point there had been a bridge, she was pretty sure, but rebuilding that was not high on the list of priorities right now.<p>

Simple enough to deal with in the meantime. When she reached the river she turned around.

Watching the sunset reflected in the water, the princess stretched out all of her senses as far as she could. Drinking in the faint breeze, the shifting colors, the mist rising from the water and the signs of life all around her. Even the wildlife of Arus was beginning to recover. It probably wasn't helping her conditioning, the way she kept stopping to watch birds fly overhead or the shimmer of fish beneath the water, but she really wasn't too worried about that.

As she drew in her surroundings, a faint spark of energy touched her mind. Mystic energy. Not exactly something that was found in nature, so that was interesting...

Following the trace might be foolish. Just might. But it wasn't powerful; she'd never have noticed it if she weren't stretched almost to her spiritual limits. And it didn't speak of danger. So she followed to quell her curiosity, and found a figure sitting by the riverbank, tracing symbols in the sand.

For a moment she was disconcerted by the blue and near-black uniform. She'd gotten used to seeing the Voltron Force's second in either his workout clothes or his armored flight suit, since Keith had him running patrols around the castle after pretty much every fight.

"Sven?"

He jumped, turned a questioning look in her direction. "Oh, Allura. Something wrong?"

"No, I was just out running." As she approached she could see better what he'd drawn out in the sand; nine symbols of varying complexity, written in a vertical line. Though the precise patterns were utterly alien, she'd seen such things before in the course of her own studies. It resembled Arusian runic sorcery. "I felt a mystic energy out here... I didn't know Earthlings did runeweaving."

"Runeweaving? I don't think we..." He frowned for a moment, then followed her gaze, and gave a soft laugh as comprehension dawned. "Oh. Those aren't runes, they're called kanji. Part of the Japanese writing system."

The word Japanese meant nothing to her whatsoever, but she could guess at its context, in any case. "Is that your culture?"

"In a sense." He said it as if that answered everything, and recoiled when she scowled at him. "What?"

Allura crossed her arms. "Do you realize how little that tells me?"

"...Do you really need the long version?"

He sounded more doubtful than secretive, really, so Allura decided there was no harm in pressing. "Yes."

Sven shrugged, apparently convinced. "I'm Japanese by blood, but I was adopted by a Norwegian family as an infant. Everything I know about my ancestral culture, I've learned from books... but I do try to learn as much as I can." A pause as he looked back at the symbols in the sand. "There's something more compelling about learning traditions by choice. Not just following the ones you're expected to."

Adopted. Allura knew what it meant, though adoption was not practiced on Arus; children were either raised by their birth parents or the community as a whole, never taken in by another specific family. But the rest of his words rang true, achingly true.

"I can understand that." She knelt and ran a hand through the water. "I'm pretty sure I understand, anyway. I was born into the royal household, obligated to uphold all the traditions of the Malaika dynasty. One of them is that the third child becomes a mystic, and I chose to take up spirit talking. But spirit talkers have their own ritual and traditions... and I'm loyal to both, I _treasure_ both, but they don't always mesh so well."

Sven nodded. Didn't speak, but didn't need to, and for a few moments they remained in comfortable silence.

Curiosity overcame her again quickly. "So what do the... kanji... mean?"

"It's a protective mantra." He gestured for her to move closer, motioned to each symbol in turn. "They read as rin, pyo, to, sha, kai, jin, retsu, zai, zen."

Allura studied the complex characters and raised an eyebrow. "That seems like a lot of work for such short words." A wince as she realized how that had come out. "Um, no disrespect intended."

He smirked. "Welcome to kanji." Pause as he studied the symbols again himself. "The translations vary, but I don't think they really matter all that much. All comes down to the same thing... invoking the celestial guardians."

"Celestial guardians?" That seemed interesting, from someone who traveled among the stars. "Do you believe in that?"

Shrug. "I don't know." The words came easily enough to startle her; Arusian mystics knew _precisely_ what they believed. Had to, or their rituals could never take hold. She knew that even typical Arusians were often more conflicted in their views, but had never discussed the matter with such a person. Let alone someone trying to invoke spirits a galaxy away from their home. "You pick up unusual beliefs in my line of work. Guardians in the stars... it's ridiculous and at the same time it makes so much sense. I don't _dis_believe, so it can't hurt, can it?"

"I guess not, when you look at it that way." She watched him for a moment. Sven usually kept to himself... even with her forcing the issue, the conversation was almost surreal. If it weren't for the accent she'd have forgotten who she was talking to a long time ago. "No offense, but I didn't expect you to be so open."

Sven laughed. "I've heard that before." His expression became serious again quickly, dark eyes fixed on the flowing water. "I guess I just don't see much point in talking about myself unless someone asks. I'm content _not_ to be asked... but it's not that I'm really trying to hide anything."

Allura doubted that. Everyone hid things. But she understood his point; no need to argue the details. And she liked this. Just talking, getting to know someone, wandering aimlessly over the past with no purpose or goal in mind. Understanding these warriors as _people_. "I'd like to know more."

He shot her an amused look, then stood and lifted his gaze to the sky. "Another time. Keith's already going to kill me when we get back, if Coran and Nanny don't beat him to it."

Only then did Allura realize night had nearly fallen. "...Oh." The last vestiges of the sun were vanishing beneath the horizon, though the glimmermoss common to the watery areas of Arus was still lighting the banks of the river just fine. "Will a royal pardon help?"

More laughter. "With Keith? Probably not. We'll just tell him you were beating me up, since you're about to get to that point anyway." He reached up and touched his left shoulder a little gingerly and Allura couldn't help giggling; she'd landed her first successful roundhouse kick there the day before. "I really think you're ready to start sparring with Hunk, he's got more padding."

"Pidge says Hunk wouldn't ever be able to make himself hit me."

"Well then I guess he'll lose the fight, won't he?" A smirk as he reached down to help her up. "Let's go."

Allura cast one last glance at the kanji on the banks as they left. He was probably right... it couldn't hurt.

She hoped it would help.

* * *

><p>Lance was on encampment duty, and he was annoyed.<p>

Not annoyed because he was spending time with Allura, of course not. Just annoyed because he was on the ground. Keith had air duty—Keith never had anything _but_ air duty anymore, it seemed like—and Black Lion stood over the camp, watching the proceedings with emotionless golden eyes. Seeing someone else in their lion always made Lance wish he could be in Red _right then_.

His companion on ground duty today was Hunk, and that always went well. It seemed like the big engineer only had to step into the area and he would immediately be swarmed by every child present. Or maybe they were all lined up waiting for him, hoping each day that when Princess Allura appeared to mingle with their parents, Uncle Hunk would be one of the ones at her side.

Uncle Hunk. He still giggled every time when they called him that, and usually whoever was on duty with him found it equally amusing. Lance had taken to using the name himself, until he'd been threatened with going without dinner for a week if he didn't cut it out. Even pleading to Nanny hadn't worked—the rivalry between those two was still quite serious, but it had also become friendly enough that they couldn't be played against each other anymore.

And there Hunk was, sitting in Black Lion's shadow with half a dozen children, playing some game with marbles and flicking them all over the grass. Whatever he was trying to do, he was hopeless at it. Incredibly hopeless. Also incredibly fake; the guy could pitch machine parts that were much less aerodynamically sound with perfect precision, but if he showed his true skill he might actually _win_ a game or two. He wasn't there to win.

Every child left in the Yazata province loved him.

For his part, Lance loved watching Hunk at work, but he hated seeing the kids. The kids who seemed so cheerful now, yet they'd watched their planet fall apart before their eyes...

How many of them would grow up to be him?

No. These kids had hope. Their world was going to thrive again, and the strike by Zarkon's forces would be nothing but a distant memory. Something they read about in history books when they were learning about how Voltron had awakened and pushed the Drule Supremacy back for good.

What about Valkan VI? No, not even the planet, just the four villages razed to make a point... and really he only even cared about one of those. Had it rebuilt, was it thriving? Or did it still lie in ash because there'd been no one left to bring it back?

He didn't know. Didn't want to know, desperately wanted to know. Couldn't even say which answer he was more afraid of. It would have been so easy to look it up, but he didn't. No sense tormenting himself like that. In the end it wasn't about the village, it was about the lives, lives that couldn't be brought back, lives the Drules would pay for in kind.

..._Red Lion, talk to me_...

A flicker of response, as there always was. When the darkness began to cloak Lance's mind, he no longer had to brood, at least not so much as he once had. He simply tugged on the bond between himself and the craft sleeping in the distant volcano. Felt its warmth in his mind and let the fire burn the darkness away.

But an unusual sensation accompanied the warmth this time, and didn't fade when he let the link slip back into its dormant state. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling. Something was up... or maybe it was just the contrast. Red Lion's warmth against the chilly breeze. No...

Lance tended to trust his intuition, enough that he referred to it as his radar, though his friends said the only thing that radar ever got him into was trouble. His intuition was shrieking pretty loud right now, in any case. A quick check around the edges of the encampment couldn't _hurt_ anything.

The princess was talking to a pair of ragged peasants who'd just arrived to the camp, so he passed by her and went to his teammate. "Hey, Hunk, I'm gonna go sweep the perimeter. Try not to lose your game too bad without me here to laugh at you, alright?"

"Oh, it's way too late for that. Don't forget a broom so you can make a clean sweep."

Smirking, he opted not to dignify that with a response, and started on his patrol.

He was at the edge of the forest when he felt it, a crackling sensation running down his spine, screaming of danger. His first inclination was to look back at the camp—surely an assassin couldn't have made it into the shadow of the castle? But even looking that direction caused the sense to lessen so he turned again, looked at the branches, found himself staring into two fierce eyes that glowed mirrorlike in the sun.

_A cat? You've gotta be kidding. My radar started freaking out about a cat?_ But even as he was admonishing himself the cat crouched and hissed with all the malice of a demon. ..._That is _not_ just a cat._

"Myyyaaaaaow!"

It would be best to go get the others. He couldn't explain why but he had no doubt the cat was dangerous, knew it was far more than it appeared. A big metal cat or two of their own might throw a wrench into whatever was going on. But...

The cat jumped from the branch it was perched on, black fur nearly vanishing into the shadows, and Lance stopped thinking and ran after it. No time to get the others. Even if this thing was a full-on robeast it was an awfully small and fuzzy one. He could get this. No problem.

No problem at all.

It was all he could do to track the animal through the forest. But he was fast too, and it couldn't quite seem to shake him, despite its best efforts. Finally he chased it into a clearing, a scorched area he assumed must be left from some battle or another; seemed awfully small to be the result of a forest fire, anyway.

The new scenery distracted him, if only for a moment. The cat had vanished completely as he looked around, and he swore at himself in some of his lesser-used languages for the slip. "Oh come on, we were having such a _fun_ chase." He moved into the center of the clearing, eyes narrowed, all senses on alert for even the slightest twitch of a whisker. "Here, kitty kitty..."

Something moved. Not a cat. A shrouded form detached from the darkness across from him, a robed figure with glowing golden eyes.

"How unfortunate. I wasn't expecting guests this early..." Violet tendrils shot out at him from everywhere at once, and when he tried to open fire with his sidearms the energy bolts were absorbed into the net as it closed around him. "But no matter. I can deal with you now."

Not just a cat? Maybe it had just been a cat.

It just hadn't been _alone_.

_Oh, hells._

* * *

><p>"Sven, Pidge, have either of you seen Lance lately? He's supposed to be out here, but I've completely lost visual."<p>

The voice crackled over Green Lion's comms and nearly startled Sven into losing his balance; he was perched rather precariously on the craft's muzzle, helping Pidge and two of the mice install a sonar beacon he'd dredged up from some scrap heap or another.

"Huh." Pidge, who was flopped over backwards and didn't seem to be having the slightest trouble keeping his grip, looked up and frowned. "Haven't heard from him, though he kind of avoids the hangar if he can help it. He's not just chatting up the princess?"

There was a pause that seemed slightly too long before Keith responded. "No, he is most definitely not just _chatting up the princess_. Wouldn't put it past him to have snuck off with a civilian, though, that's more what I'm worried about..."

Sven couldn't help feeling like maybe their commander was giving Lance slightly too little credit. But only slightly, and besides, he wouldn't mind an excuse to get out of this little operation. He liked mechanics and could follow instructions just fine, but spending much time in the hangar with Pidge only served to convince him that _one_ of them still didn't speak much English. "Want me to go look for him?"

"Please."

Pidge shot him an amused scowl as he dropped, much too quickly, off of Green Lion's nose. "You just want to get out of finishing this."

"Obviously."

Giggle. "Just for that I'm going to save it until you're available again. Get out of here. Slap Lance for me, if whatever girl he's cornered hasn't done it already."

Sven snorted. "Unlikely." With a squeak, Blue joined him on the ground, gripping his shoulder a little too tightly with claws that were very small, but very sharp and powerful nonetheless. "Ease up, girl." Hunk had grown tired of calling all the mice 'it' and assigned them totally arbitrary genders. Sven found it amusing. "You can come if you want, but try not to rip my shoulder off."

"Skriik."

Outside, he found Hunk wrestling with some children—if he could pull his punches enough for _that_, surely he could manage some sparring with Allura? Not the time—and was informed that the last the big pilot had seen of his teammate, Lance had been heading off on a perimeter sweep. The sort of thing a good and conscientious soldier ought to do while protecting his princess, no doubt.

Plenty of opportunity for trouble.

Assuming Keith would have been able to see if the other pilot if he were anywhere in the camp, Sven went straight for the forest, vanishing into the shadows. Moving as quickly as he could while remaining silent, straining his senses for any hint of... well... anything.

"Skwee. Skriiak-skwee."

He had no idea what that meant. "Yeah, tell me about it."

The forest was sending chills through him. Only Pidge knew the terrain well, and even he hardly knew everything. It would be such a perfect place to set a trap. And as they progressed, Sven couldn't seem to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Nothing coherent, just the sense of malevolent eyes on him, seeking...

The tiny metal claws that had been digging into his shoulder suddenly relinquished their grip and Blue went sailing into the air with a squeaking, chittering war cry. She hit something in midair, something black and furry and much larger than she was. But then again, the little mouse _was_ a robot, not bound by limitations of flesh and blood. And the force of her impact knocked the lunging cat to the ground, where it took a swipe at her that inexplicably dented and tore the metal plating on her side.

No ordinary cat.

Sven froze for just a moment, gripped by indecision. The mouse had possibly just saved his life. This was proof there was a trap. He needed to help Blue. He needed to get to Lance. Blue was just a machine. No, the mice were more than machines, just as the lions were. But Lance was his friend, his best friend...

Honor would dictate that he repaid the mouse's favor. He didn't have time for honor.

Flipping a knife at the cat he broke into a sprint, not even staying to watch where the blade hit, though the shrieking yowl that echoed behind him said it had been a good shot.

The forest was alive now, danger lurking behind every branch, within every shadow. But no longer so silent. The snarls and squeaks behind him were fading as something else began to echo in front of him, a faint hum of energy and what sounded like muffled gunshots.

That was _definitely_ not a dating attempt gone wrong. Though he'd already been running at full speed he forced himself to move faster, closing in on the sounds, reaching back to ensure he still had his weapons though he could feel them as he ran, the sword sheathed across his back, the pouch of throwing knives he'd started carrying when Keith demanded he have _something_ for ranged combat.

He was ready for anything. But he wasn't ready for what he saw when the forest vanished around him into a charred circle of death.

Lance was sprawled on the ground, bound in a glowing violet net, giving his captor everything he had, though his pistol shots passed harmlessly through the web of energy gathered around him. The few which actually hit the webbing were absorbed in a crimson flash, but he wasn't really aiming—he was thrashing against the net, teeth clenched, eyes deadly focused.

That was bad enough. But the true terror was the identity of the captor, a form shrouded in a simple brown robe, eyes glowing with cool malevolence as she attempted to reel her prisoner in. Attempted. Lance's struggles were making that rather difficult, but at the same time his strength was visibly fading, as though the net were sapping the life from him as he moved.

Sven cast about frantically in his mind for the name, though he knew who it was. King Zarkon's chief advisor, the most powerful witch in the Ninth Kingdom. The Alliance had managed to gather a surprising amount of information on her, considering she'd been serving the Supremacy—and the goddess she was said to be descended from—for nearly five centuries...

_Haggar_.

Everything came and went in an instant, then he drew his sword and lunged, slicing through the energy web with a hiss of pain as feedback shot through his body.

"Sven!"

The other warrior was shaky when he stood, though the usual flames danced in his eyes when he turned to face the witch. _No. This won't work_. He didn't like these odds, didn't like them at all... and liked them even less when he saw his friend discard one of his guns, realized there was a smoking hole in the side of the weapon.

"Lance, get out of here."

He looked affronted by the suggestion. "What? I'm not leaving you here with—"

"Go get the others! I'll hold her until you get back."

A snarl. "Absolutely not. _You_ go get the others. If someone has to stay here it should be me."

Sven clenched his fists. There was no time for this. "Do not make me pull rank, Lance. You're faster than me and I'm stronger than you. Go. _Now_."

"Sven—"

He whirled, eyes gleaming so cold they burned. "That's an order, McClain!"

Admittedly he had quite a few other things on his mind at the moment, but Sven couldn't actually recall ever giving a direct order before. From the shock that passed over his friend's face he suspected Lance was thinking the same thing. And maybe that was why he really stopped arguing.

It probably wasn't his respect for authority.

"Fine. But be _careful_, damn you."

He watched Lance just long enough to be certain his friend was really gone, then turned to face Haggar, who was studying him with a sort of venomous bemusement. "I am your opponent," he said softly, quite certain she wouldn't understand if he used the proper Japanese for the challenge.

"Very well. Either one of you will suffice."

This was madness. To enter this battle alone was sheer madness. But he was a navigator and his kind were _known_ for madness, weren't they?

Gathering himself, he forced the fear down as best he could. His only hope remained what it always was. Keep his composure, make the witch lose hers.

And hope the others made it... quickly.

* * *

><p><em>No matter. The game does not change, only the players.<em>

As her original victim scrambled from the clearing, Haggar studied the new human carefully. He wore a similar uniform, but blue rather than red, and without the jacket. His hair and eyes were dark, and his expression was infuriatingly close to disdain. _Disdain from such a creature?_ That was unacceptable. Unforgivable. But she would not fall for the tricks of an animal; she would not make the first move, would not leave herself open as he was seeking.

For a long time they simply stared at each other, and as they did her trepidation grew. This human made her uneasy. It was not fear. Only unease, the faint sense of a chill running through the air between them, a hint of confusion as they stared each other down and she realized things were not as she'd predicted they would be.

For a Daughter of the Wyvern to even be _uneasy_ was a rare thing indeed.

_Wait for it. You are superior in all things, including patience_.

She waited. Still the human did not move... Haggar certainly wasn't going to strike first. In the end it was all the same to her. The longer he stalled, the more likely his friends would arrive to support him, and she could eliminate the entire batch of upstarts at once after all. Let this one suffer for the sin of disquieting her by watching his friends die before him. And yet... there was something...

He smiled.

_This hardly seems a time for smiling_. "Do you welcome death, human?"

To her shock, he bowed. Shallowly. But such a gesture of honor—the very _concept_ of honoring a foe—ought to be beneath these creatures. "What are you waiting for?" he asked softly. Sincerely. "Do you think I'm frightened of silence?"

_Interesting_. "If your claim to being intelligent life were true, you would know to be afraid."

"No." He raised his eyes to the sky. Just for a moment. "I know something of your goddess... Sarga. She lives among the stars, does she not?"

Haggar's eyes widened, their glow intensifying. She would not have imagined an Earthling would know anything of her ways, but more importantly... "You _dare_ defile the name of the goddess with your human tongue?" She raised her hands, whispered an invocation, and a dozen illusions shimmered into being at her sides. Her shadows surrounded the human, whose eyes darted over them warily.

_Yes_. Now he was in her web. She would keep him there, toy with him as she willed... but he was still smiling and it was doing more than angering her... she was beginning to hate him. Hate caused irrationality, fear and infatuation. Hate was a weakness. With some effort she cast it aside.

The effort was mocked when he laughed. "Is that all it takes? I can say it again."

"I see. You do seek death, then." Haggar raised one hand, gathering energy, and each of the shadows did likewise. Their forms were false but their power would strike true. "But you will not have it so easily. In _her_ name I will teach you fear!"

Derision shone in his gaze as he focused on her; it took a supreme effort to keep the surging hatred back. Humans weren't supposed to be so cold, so focused. They were supposed to lose their tempers, snarl like the animals they were, charge and break. Exactly what he seemed to want from _her_, in his arrogance.

"Let me teach _you_ something." His voice was calm, but the contempt remained in his eyes. "There is an all-devouring god at the center of this galaxy... the darkness at the core of all life, which even the stars bow to." He sheathed his blade and looked over the illusions around him with something that was almost amusement. "I've been there. Touched that darkness. Bent it to my will. And you think _you're_ going to lecture me about fear?"

_Enough_. She'd heard enough. She wasn't actually certain what he thought he was going on about—some human delusion, undoubtedly—but blasphemy was blasphemy. She didn't much care if he knew what he was saying.

"I wonder if you can retain that arrogance when your flesh is melting from your bones." The energy continued to build among her shadows and she gestured again, increasing their power, waiting for her adversary to make the move he surely _had_ to make if he meant to escape his impending doom.

Yet he remained still, mumbling something under his breath, something she couldn't quite make out and didn't really care to. _What does he expect to accomplish? _He'd gone to such lengths to spark her temper, and now he wasn't even trying to defend himself._ Earthlings. Foolish, incomprehensible creatures. The universe would be better off without any of them_.

A dozen thunderclaps echoed over the clearing as Haggar's spell discharged, firing from each of the shadows at once. She wasn't a fool. Such an attack would be relatively easy to sidestep, if the human were paying attention—which he really didn't seem to be, but it was rather hard to tell at this stage. But the mirror images did not all aim at where the human stood. They varied their angles, just slightly. Enough to turn the entire circle they surrounded into a blazing hell of power. Impossible to dodge.

Impossible...

At the last moment he jumped, the spells passing harmlessly beneath him. Drawing his sword again he lashed out at the nearest shadow and it vanished under the touch of the blade.

Vanished? It should not have vanished... the witch barely held back a cry of surprise as every one of the shadows dissipated. _How? _He'd broken her spell—it was impossible. He was an Earthling, and Earth had no mystical tradition to speak of, certainly nothing worthy of her caution. _HOW?_

"I already told you, the stars are _mine_. They hold no fear." He landed before her, eyes dark and cold as the sacred void. "You'll have to try something else."

"You've only sealed your doom, infidel." Haggar braced herself, countered his first few strikes more by reflex than thought. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Whatever trick he may have used to dispel her illusions might have made him confident—and, she grudgingly admitted, he had reason to be proud of that feat. But if he believed he'd conquered her he was still only a fool, and would still die a fool. Breaking a single spell did not rob her of her formidable arsenal of magic.

But... no.

If he wanted something else she would give him something else. Magic was only the first line of her formidable defenses. Imbuing her staff with power she lunged without a word, striking with a speed and focus the greatest Drule martial artists would have envied.

He had time to raise his sword, to try to block. She could've altered the blow, but at this point in the fight she simply didn't feel like it. _Be destroyed!_ The glowing staff came down on the blade, shattering it completely, continuing to rip a burning gash down the human's chest.

Something stung her. Just below her shoulder, two slivers of metal had dug in. _Throwing knives...?_ Her golden eyes settled on the human as he sank to his knees, breathing shallowly. One hand still gripped the useless sword hilt, while the other held one last knife. "You dare?" she murmured. "You dare claim dominion over the stars... and you dare spill the blood of a goddess?"

Several long, shuddering breaths before he could answer. "The stars do not care... and the gods do not bleed." With a flick of his wrist the last knife sailed through the air, tearing her hood and barely missing her face.

_Insolent to the last_. This one was no longer worthy of her personal attention. His blasphemy was too great. But that was why she'd brought Galcia along... insurance. Intimidation. But mostly just to complete work that might, perhaps, be beneath her after all. And now it was time to end this.

"It is good that you do not fear the silence, brave little Earthling." As her minion's shadow loomed over the human she saw his eyes widen. Perhaps... perhaps he had finally, belatedly, learned fear. But she had no more time for games. No more time to educate the dead. "Be silenced forever!"

The robeast's strike did not silence him. Quite the opposite. It made him scream.


	4. Moment of Impact

**Arusian Crusade: Starfall**  
>Chapter 4: Moment of Impact<p>

* * *

><p><em>Heart of serenity?<em>

_Can you not hear me?_

_The body no longer contains the waters within._

_The mind is silent when I call._

_Why does this come to pass?_

* * *

><p>Sven's world became nothing but the call of the darkness. And another call, a call he could not grasp, let alone answer, as he fought the talons of blackness gripping his body and his soul.<p>

Struggling to draw breath he could feel liquid in his chest, cutting off the air. Intellectually he knew it was blood gushing into his lungs, but he was not concerned. Not for that. If he was to die here, let it be by drowning. Let the water take him. He did not fear the darkness, the realm the stars pierced.

_So convenient... not to fear the darkness..._

Yet terror gripped him as his breath faded, terror much worse than the fear of mere death.

_No. Not now. My mission... is not done._

He wasn't ready to die. Not yet. No amount of selfish courage could change that fact.

_I failed..._

Fading.

There was no fighting it any longer.

* * *

><p><em>Heart of serenity, answer!<em>

_I feel it._

_Darkness closes in._

_The soul breaks, the ice shatters, the waves still._

_This shall not come to pass!_

* * *

><p>The lion knight had never been sentient.<p>

Never _before_.

Voltron remembered much. Remembered rampaging through worlds that had once belonged to the First Empire, remembered breaking much of what would become the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. Remembered it because it was in his databanks. It had happened.

But those memories were intellectual. Knowledge of what had occurred, nothing more. No images, no sensations. Only darkness.

And then... the warriors had come. They had bound themselves to the lions, and so bound the lions to themselves. Millennia of darkness had ceased, and a soul had been awakened. And Voltron was not prepared to give this fragment of that soul up.

Blue Lion roared and the lake shook. The water churned violently, its power flowing from the lake into the groundwater around it. Moving unhindered through the earth, beneath the forest, into the shattered body of the fallen pilot. Carrying with it the promise of healing. Water brought life, and life would endure.

By all rights, the human's heart _should_ have stopped beating. But it did not.


	5. Aftermath

**Arusian Crusade: Starfall**  
>Chapter 5: Aftermath<p>

_Rolling right along! Two down.  
><em>_Many thanks for reading, double thanks for the reviews, and keep an eye out, part 3 is forthcoming...  
><em>_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>It was nearly half an hour before Yurak approached Haggar's quarters, realizing she wasn't going to come to him herself. "Haggar!"<p>

"Please, enter." She turned to him and bowed slightly when he opened the door. "My apologies, Admiral Yurak. I intended to send Galcia to you with my report, but became caught up in other matters."

Other matters? What could possibly have distracted her from reporting on the mission she'd come here for in the first place? He shrugged it off. Sometimes he wondered if the witch might be just a slight bit crazy. "Not a problem. It's done?"

"It is done. One of the pilots of the hated Voltron now lies lifeless in the dust, as you wished."

_Only one? But so quickly. _The admiral had expected to be hovering just beyond Arusian orbit for weeks, and nodded his appreciation for the witch's efficiency. One would suffice. The lions, despite their power, did not possess Voltron's aura of terror. "The fleet stands ready, then. We'll open fire and draw the rest of the lions out to be slaughtered."

"No. We will return to Korrinoth immediately," Haggar said calmly.

He frowned. "You have so little faith in my fleet?"

"Respectfully, Admiral, there is little I can say about your fleet which would not be harsher than what you've said yourself." He winced; she had a point there. "Nonetheless, this is not a matter of faith in your abilities. A champion has fallen. A champion of our enemies, perhaps, but he died bravely and honorably. We will permit them time to mourn, as common decency requires."

Another frown. _He died honorably?_ Haggar had been acting slightly peculiar for the whole mission—not least by taking on the mission in the first place—most _certainly_ not least by returning to the dreadnought with what looked like a crippled housecat in her arms—but this was a whole new level of odd. Of course it was common practice to allow a mourning period, if a champion fell in honorable combat, but... there was that word again.

Honor. Honor was key. And suggesting that a mere human could display such honor, even in death, was absurd. "An Earthling, witch, nothing more. That kind of vermin wouldn't know the first thing about honor."

A flicker of gold beneath the witch's hood. "I held this assumption as well, but perhaps we have underestimated our enemies. Do you question my judgment, Admiral?"

He took a step back. Maybe he technically outranked her, but this was still a Daughter of the Wyvern. Ranks meant nothing. "Of course not!"

"Then we shall return."

Something about this made Yurak uneasy. The idea of just leaving on the cusp of victory, that was certainly one thing, but... he dared not question her judgment. No. Incorrect.

_A human died honorably._

He dared question her judgment only in his mind. She _was_ crazy.

Cursing his own cowardice this time, he turned to his helmsman and nodded. "You heard the lady, Snuff. Get us out of here."

* * *

><p>It was Keith's first time meeting the castle's chief physician. He would have preferred to remain unacquainted.<p>

"His spine is broken in two places—completely severed in one of them. Several other bones are broken including a significant skull fracture, many third-degree burns, and he's lost dangerous quantities of blood. Honestly I don't see how he survived in the first place." Dr. Gorma looked intensely frustrated. "We've induced a coma and placed him under energy stasis. Unfortunately... with our current level of resources there's very little more we can do." He grimaced. "And I cannot help but admit that even in Arus' prime, we could not have repaired the worst of the spinal damage."

Keith gritted his teeth against anything that might come out. Anything. He didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't lose his composure. Not now. The team needed him to be strong. And Sven, more than anyone, needed him to keep his head. He counted down from twenty before daring to speak. "What do you suggest, then?"

The doctor hesitated a moment. "There is a distant planet called Ebb. It is known throughout this galaxy as a world of healing; the planet has certain native herbs which can do miraculous things, but once harvested lose their potency too quickly to be exported. To make the best use of this resource, Ebb has focused on medical technology and mysticism to the exclusion of all else. They would be able to heal him."

Hopeful as the words were, there was something in the doctor's tone Keith didn't like. "What's the catch?"

"Transit. Skip drive jumps will disrupt the stasis he's under, and can be quite rough on the body, as I'm sure you know. _If_ he survives the trip, he would be certain to make a full recovery..."

"Odds?"

"Optimistically speaking, perhaps ten percent."

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to ask a question he knew the answer to. "And if he stays here?"

"The stasis can hold for a few months. If, by the end of that time, we were to completely return to our prior levels of knowledge and resources—which I'm sure you know is exceptionally improbable—we would be able to repair all of the peripheral injuries and some of the spinal damage. The best case scenario is that he would regain brain function and speaking ability. Far more likely, he simply never wakes."

This was nearly—_nearly_—as hard on Gorma as it was on Keith, the commander realized. By all counts the man was an excellent doctor, used to working miracles himself, but this situation went far beyond his power. And this patient was no ordinary patient... he was one of the Voltron Force. The Arusians revered these warriors above all but their dead king and beloved princess: the five warriors from another galaxy who had left behind everything they knew to deliver this world from the encroaching darkness. They were already becoming legendary.

And now a legend was dying.

"Send him to Ebb," Keith ordered, softly. He'd have stopped there, but for just an instant, he felt something... not optimism. Not exactly that. More like _certainty_. A whisper of lightning in the back of his mind. "He'll make it."

"As you wish." Dr. Gorma turned away, going back to the infirmary to begin the preparations.

Keith stared after the doctor for a very long time, then closed his eyes. _Sven_... his fists clenched so tightly as to be painful. _Damn you, Sven! I need you! Without you I'm..._

There weren't any words.

It felt like they'd known each other forever, though it really hadn't been that long. Oh, they'd seen each other often. Brief encounters. Military functions where Keith's aunt had pointed out the two decorated pilots with a son about his age. They'd spoken to each other then, spoken with the cautious unease of two children who were told to go and be playmates for lack of other options.

Running into him at the academy had been a shock. Not that he'd been trying to kill Lance—that happened to Lance every other week, Keith was used to breaking those incidents up before his friend actually had to hurt somebody. No, the shock had been the recognition.

It was hard to explain what had happened after that. Nobody had ever said, _let's be friends_. It just happened. Their duo became a trio. He still would never understand how they'd done it—Lance and Sven were complete opposites, fire and ice, bickering just like that and yet occasionally they would both turn it on him. Breaking him out of his barriers of intensity and forcing him to be human rather than "the chief," as Lance had called him even then.

Keith could not recall ever arguing with Sven. Not seriously. And when he and Lance clashed—oh, he and Lance had clashed plenty—the third of their group would always be there, with an almost supernatural sense of how far he could let things go. Watching with faint amusement until he had to jump in and stop them from strangling each other.

Conventional wisdom said three was such a terrible number for friendship. But they'd made it work so flawlessly.

Words whispered in his mind, from very long ago, a line from some ancient movie he'd been watching on a bet. Words that suddenly rang frighteningly true. _Disturb not the harmony of fire, ice, and lightning..._

Now it had been disturbed, all right.

_You can't leave us, Sven. You can't leave _me_. Especially not like this. _

Keith tried to imagine what his friend would say if he could hear these thoughts, and nothing he imagined was very comforting. No. Sven would tell him what he already knew. What he _had_ told him not so long ago. That he had to go on, because there was no other choice.

_I_... Keith drew in a long, slow breath. _I can't waste time feeling sorry for myself. If I don't have you to rely on anymore_... he started to walk back to his quarters. _I can only rely on me. And make sure that nobody else will fall on my watch!_

But it wasn't quite so simple as that. He knew it wasn't. There was one detail left to attend to.

No matter how resolved he was not to rely on anyone else, he still needed a second in command. And he knew... Sven's quiet reassurance had served him so well in these early months on Arus, a voice of calm in the chaos. But now everything had changed. What Keith needed now wasn't a right hand, an extension of his will. It was someone who would test him, who would force him to be stronger.

The choice was obvious.

* * *

><p>Lance wouldn't have called what he was feeling fear. Not at all. But Keith was going to have his head, and while he knew he deserved it, it was too early. Much too early. He was perfectly capable of snarling at himself for what had happened to his friend. His closest friend in the world. His friend who'd insisted on saving him from his own stupidity and paid a crippling, perhaps deadly price.<p>

Usually he'd have prepared to hide behind the barbs and wisecracks he employed so well, but somehow he couldn't bring himself into that frame of mind. Too early, again. Maybe that was why Keith had called for him now... Keith was close too, so close, and knew him much too well.

When all else failed he slipped into his own soldier mode, a cloak of quietly boiling rage. Hollow. Seething. A sign of danger, but he couldn't say who it was most dangerous to.

Keith looked up as he walked into the otherwise empty control room. "Lance."

"Reporting, Commander."

A brief pause. Just long enough for Keith to take in his words, his tone. "We can do this with formality if that'll make you feel better." For his part he sounded quite calm. Confident. Not as threatening as his own words sounded alone, really, but Lance was in no mood to relax.

"Being here at all is not making me feel better, _sir_."

He thought he saw a wince. A flicker of the old Keith, the Keith who would've backed off and waited for his second to intervene—no, the Keith who would've backed off and waited for the third in their trio to mediate between his _friends_. It had never been about ranks or command.

Assuming he'd really seen it at all, the flicker was gone in an instant. "Alright. We can do it that way. Specialist Lance Charles McClain, you are hereby promoted to Corporal. Until such time as Sergeant Holgersson is able to resume his duties, you will act as second in command of the Voltron Force."

Lance felt his impassive mask shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. _"What?"_

"You heard me."

"Keith, are you crazy?"

"No. Not in the least." The commander's ice-blue eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to bother lecturing you. There's no point. What's done is done. Now you're going to learn from it. You're going to take his place, you're going to take responsibility for this team—and for yourself. Understand?"

_Not going to lecture me. Yeah, sure. That _was_ a lecture_. It was far milder than he had expected, and hit a thousand times harder. He wasn't sure he could imagine a worse punishment. And he realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn't think of a more effective one, either.

Keith was right.

"...I understand." He hesitated. "Um, the others aren't going to like—"

"—I'm pretty sure the others will understand exactly what happened here."

Probably true, now that he thought about it. "Yeah."

Another flicker. For one more moment his friend was the old Keith... and he looked very, very tired. "Lance." His tone had softened drastically. "I've never asked you to change before. Never. Didn't matter how insubordinate you got or how many fights you got me into. Didn't matter that you were looking for new ways to get expelled every week. Maybe I should've tried harder in the first place. But... we don't have that luxury of not changing anymore. I know you can do this." He turned back to the monitors. "I _need_ you to do this."

Lance stared at his friend's back long after it was clear the conversation was over. Trying to grasp, fully, what had just happened. Trying to reconcile Keith and Keith. His friend and his commander. He'd never had a problem with that before, but...

_Now you're going to take his place_. He shook his head. Nobody could take Sven's place. And he wasn't as certain as Keith was.

"I'm going to Red," he muttered, earning a silent nod.

The zipline and shuttle seemed to take forever. He changed into his flight suit while the shuttle screamed down its track, not really planning to go anywhere, but it was nice to have the option. Plus it gave him something to focus on. It was probably the slowest he'd ever changed clothing.

_Could_ he do this? Not that Lance was ever short on confidence, but his last attempt at taking initiative had gotten him into this situation to begin with. Not a very good start. But he would do what he had to do, for the team. To make sure there was still a team for Sven to come back to.

If he survived.

If.

Red Lion's den was always warm, a warmth that stopped just short of actually being hot. The convection ought to have been killer—when he left the shuttle Lance could have reached out and touched the exposed magma, if for some absurd reason he'd wanted to. The floor and walls appeared to simply be gleaming obsidian, but there _had_ to be mystical forces at work here, rendering the place safe for a pilot to walk in.

He held up his key and Red lowered its head to greet him. Was that just the whirring of its servos, or had it growled in welcome as it moved? Either way... he sighed and sprawled out in the craft's mouth, not wanting to be at the controls where the urge for flight might overtake him. "I messed up big time, Red. Messed up about as bad as it's possible to mess up."

A gentle flicker of warmth touched the back of his mind. No words. He didn't expect words, didn't need words. The lion was _listening_, and he could trust it completely, knew it would never speak of his doubts.

"Sven's gone. He's my best friend and I got him hurt and now he's gone. They're sending him away. Shipping him off to the other side of the galaxy. There's a tiny little chance he'll live through the trip, and if he _does_ he'll be there God only knows how long before he can come back, and until then Keith thinks he's going to make a respectable second in command out of _me_." He laughed, an odd mix of true humor and bitterness. "He's nuts."

With a jolt Red Lion returned to its sitting position, apparently deciding it had waited long enough for its pilot to get situated. Lance yelped as the craft's jaws snapped shut and plunged him into darkness, started fumbling around on the warm steel to find the key he'd placed beside him. Finding the key would be easier than trying to get to the entry hatch, anyway.

"Dude, Red. Did you _have_ to do that? Open up, I can't see a thing!"

He had not expected a response, but he got one. The lion's jaws opened immediately.

"...Oh. You... uh... thanks for that."

A shimmer of flame came across through the link.

Lance suddenly found himself wondering about Blue Lion. Without Sven they were one lion short, of course. Wouldn't be able to form Voltron. He'd kicked himself repeatedly over that fact, but now another element was occurring to him. One prompted by Red's unusual responsiveness.

"How's Blue doing?" he asked softly. "Is it lonely? Does it miss him already? Would you have missed me, if Sven hadn't come to save me?"

This time he felt a surge of emotion, rather than just heat. A mixture of confusion and comfort and something that he could only identify as possessiveness—not in a bad way. Just a clear sense of the lion's protective embrace.

Lance smiled, reached up and brushed a hand across one of the lion's shining fangs. "You're gonna stick with me, right? I think as long as I've got you, I can handle whatever Keith _and_ the Drules throw at me."

He was pretty sure it was really just the crackling and hissing of the lava outside, but for a moment he thought Red was purring.

* * *

><p>"Can you save him?"<p>

"He's a her."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Forgot. My idea and I still forgot."

"No problem, I've been doing the same thing with Colby. But yeah. I can save her and you can make her pretty again and then we'll paint a little bow on her head or something so we can remember."

"Um, about that. I can't fix the metal."

"Wait, what? Seriously?"

"Yeah. The patching just won't take. I had some temp plates on and it was messing her servos all up, so she's just gonna have to deal with looking creepy."

"Creepy? If it were your lion you'd say it was awesome."

"Hey now. Yellow's scar is strategically placed. This is just a mess."

"Still. Combat wounds, that's not creepy. She's gonna be the most badass mouse on the block."

Their voices were low and far, far too rushed. They knew they were shaken, they were terrified, they were seizing on the slightest distraction and it wasn't working out so well... especially not considering the circumstances that had brought this distraction to them in the first place.

Blue was sprawled out on the workbench, eyes dim, as Pidge poked at her exposed wiring and Hunk looked on. The extensive damage she'd taken had caused a homing signal to activate; the other four mice had locked onto it, dragged their shattered comrade back to the castle.

Eerily reminiscent of what their human counterparts had done.

Pidge pulled back for a moment, letting a shudder pass through him before returning to the delicate work. He'd left the mouse hanging for two days, much to the indignation of the others, but what else could he do? It was still taking all he had to focus.

To joke about being wounded in combat...

Like Sven...

Another shudder and he stopped, shaking his head. "I'm gonna have to come back to this later."

Truthfully Blue's wiring wasn't in such bad shape. She would _look_ rather frightening from now on if Hunk couldn't patch her up, but most of her internal workings were just fine. It could wait. It would have to wait. Pidge knew he'd just make things worse if he tried to keep going now.

Hunk studied him carefully. "C'mere, little buddy."

He put down his tools and circled around the workbench, but warily. "If you hug me, I will punch you."

Massive arms wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. "Not until I let go of you, you won't, and it'll totally be worth it."

"Dammit, Hunk, cut it out!" he squawked indignantly, attempting to wrestle away.

"You're adorable when you're being all ornery, you know that?" The big engineer had not relinquished his grip in the slightest, but his tone suddenly became deadly serious. "Come off it, Pidge."

_Why does he always have to _do_ that?_ He sighed and stopped struggling. "Sorry."

"All good. I'm kinda used to this by now."

"Yeah." It felt good. He could admit that. Safety was still almost a foreign concept to the young warrior who had grown up surviving on his wits and reflexes alone. But nestled in Hunk's arms he always felt safe, no matter what was raging around him—or inside him.

That was what was terrifying him right now.

"Hunk... promise me you'll be careful. Promise me that'll never happen to you."

A brief hesitation. Pidge knew it was a silly thing to ask. Childish. He was young, but he wasn't a child, had never really been a child... he knew Hunk couldn't make that promise. They were warriors, and the battle had just become far more dangerous. Death was lurking around every corner, behind every gathering cloud.

"I promise." He said it with such certainty. A certainty that ought to have come across as placating but it wasn't, it was Hunk, and Hunk damned well believed it when he said... "But you've gotta promise me too."

Oh.

Well...

"As long as you keep your promise, I'll promise too. But if you ever try to break yours, you know I'll be jumping in front of you."

Hunk snorted and finally released him. "Like that'll ever work. You're too small a target."

"Maybe, but I can do precision."

"That may be true, but if you're gonna jump in front of me you'll have to get around me, and we all know _that_ ain't the easiest thing in the world."

Pidge giggled. "We'll have to agree to disagree on who wins the more-martyr-than-thou argument, but I say we leave it theoretical and not do any testing. How's that?"

"Sounds like a plan."

They were quiet for awhile, then Hunk looked at the metal rodent on the workbench and shook his head. It was clear from his expression he wasn't really thinking about Blue, but her associated human, the one whose absence had already cast such a shroud over the Castle of Lions.

"I miss him already."

"Yeah. So do I..." Pidge's eyes narrowed. _No_. He wasn't going to dwell on this any longer, wasn't going to sit around moping anymore. His monthly quota of sappiness had been taken care of, and now he had work to do. And he was allowing himself to remember something now that he'd been suppressing for the last two days. "Look, we'll finish up with Blue later, but I need you to come help me with something on Green Lion right now."

Hunk looked startled by the abrupt change in subject. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've got a half-installed sonar beacon in the nose. Sven was helping me with it... right before he got called out to look for Lance."

"...Ahh, gotcha." The big pilot nodded confidently. "Sure, let's go finish bolting that baby in."

"No, no. You don't understand." Pidge crossed his arms with a wicked smirk. "When he left he was acting _way_ too happy of getting out of it, so I told him I'd save it for when he got back. You're going to help me yank it out. And when Sven comes back from Ebb, it's going to be sitting right there waiting for him."

Uproarious laughter as Hunk slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, man. You're gonna _have_ to let me be there to see the look on his face, you know that, right?"

"That can be arranged." Pidge looked at the hand gripping him, arched an eyebrow, then reached around and punched his friend as hard as he could in the ribs.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"I did tell you if you hugged me I'd punch you. Did you think I forgot?"

Snort. "I wouldn't ever expect you to forget anything, little buddy." He rubbed at the spot on his ribcage where he'd been hit, then quickly—quicker than someone that big had any right to move—reached out and grabbed Pidge again, flipping him over one shoulder. "And just for that I'm carrying you to the control room."

That got him an indignant snarl as the little engineer started thrashing about, trying to force the steel-hard grip on him to break despite knowing it was a lost cause. "You want to get punched again?"

"Yes! At least when you're punching me you're acting normal."

"You're incorrigible."

"Yep!"

Finally letting his intellect catch up to his embarrassment, Pidge remembered what he was wearing and wrenched around sideways, letting his tech coverall fall away in Hunk's hands as he hit the floor with a wince. "Nice try," he muttered, ready to duck away if his friend tried that again. His regular uniform wasn't nearly so loose and that trick probably wouldn't work a second time regardless.

Hunk just chuckled. "If you're that desperate I guess I'll let you walk."

Pidge punched him again, braced for retribution, but was not prepared for the other pilot to just reach down and tousle his hair. "Adorable."

"I hate you."

"I know."

He gave up. There was no way he was going to win this fight... no way at all, because he'd already lost it a long time ago. Hunk had gotten him to laugh.

* * *

><p>Haggar locked herself in her laboratory and studied the small, furry form on one of the work tables. The cat wasn't dead. Not quite. She'd managed to bind the worst of its wounds, which were quite serious indeed, after returning to the <em>Death Defiant<em>. She wondered what sort of trouble it had gotten into. Something small but powerful seemed to have scratched down its face and bit into its throat, while a knife had still been embedded just below its heart.

The beast had served her well, with all its power. "Now tell me, little one," she murmured as she stroked the blood-matted fur. "How would you have me reward your service?"

A feeble "mew" answered her.

It was sufficient.

There would be no robeast transformation for this one. No doubt it could make a loyal and formidable monster, but it deserved... rather more. It would serve her in ways robeasts could not, as a scout and a spy, but that would not be all. Oh no.

Nearly every coven had a tradition of taking familiars. Among the Daughters of the Wyvern, such beasts were not sought out; it was said worthy candidates would present themselves in time. In all her centuries of service to Sarga, Haggar had never come across such a creature. But this cat... yes. The time had finally come.

Drawing out the ritual circles, she spoke the invocations in the old tongue, a language so ancient no coven could remember its creation. "Sarga, bless this creature, take it in your talons, accept it into your service. Let chaos wash over this chosen one, let the strength of the void flow through its veins. Grant it your wisdom and bind it to me, in blood and mind and soul."

_All shall be as you ask, little daughter. _As the whisper of the goddess echoed in her mind, Haggar watched the cat's form change, its fur taking on a bluish tinge, the wounds becoming sealed with molten gold. When its eyes opened they glowed to match its mistress.

Her familiar would require one more thing... Haggar sought through her knowledge of the old tongue, nodding her satisfaction as she found a name. A name that meant _awaited one_, a name that most certainly applied. "Coba," she murmured. "Your name shall be Coba, and we shall be bound together from this moment on. In the name of the Unfathomable One we shall serve, together, until we return to the oneness of the void."

The cat let out a screech of acceptance, and its eyes shone brilliant gold.

* * *

><p>Allura wasn't sure how long she'd been in the catacombs. Nobody dared to approach her there, quite wisely really. She would not have taken any disturbances well.<p>

Finally, though, she staggered from the crypts. It had been days, she had no doubt of that. The mice had been bringing her food and drink, which she touched only when she could no longer fight her body's demands, and she knew she'd drifted off more than once against her will. The castle was silent; she found a window and saw only darkness.

No stars.

She knew it was just the overcast, but the lack of stars seemed terribly fitting.

The princess did not return to her room. Not yet. For one thing she wouldn't have put it past Nanny to install some sort of alarm system in there, and she wasn't quite certain she wanted to deal with the woman right now. Not quite yet. There was something else she needed to do first...

She wanted to say she had to do this before she could rest easily. In truth she knew it wouldn't help her rest at all. But it had to be done, regardless.

The room she went to was not hers.

It seemed like an unforgivable intrusion. Almost a blasphemy. Allura was a spirit talker, accustomed to entering tombs and calling upon ghosts, but stepping into Sven's abandoned bedroom sent a shudder down her spine that no crypt had ever caused. This was somewhere she had no business being, a place that ought to be sacred.

She looked around only for a few moments, not wanting to be nosy, but unable to avoid being curious. Somehow she'd expected he would be a neat freak. Not so much. The room was not cluttered, not even exactly messy, just... haphazard, that was the word. A spare uniform tossed over the closet door, drawers that weren't quite shut, a few books stacked on the unevenly made bed. Some of the lights had been left on, as if he might return at any moment.

But he wouldn't.

Had there been any word from Ebb? She didn't know. Didn't even know if he was supposed to be there yet, if she'd been lurking in the tombs that long. Surely someone would have come to tell her if there had been news. Surely no news was good news.

Surely...

Gathering herself, Allura set her focus on what she'd come here for. Setting the candles up in a small circle before the bed. This was where he'd lived in the castle, where something of his spirit would yet linger.

Murmuring the ritual words she waited. And waited. But no aura gathered around the candles, no ghost appeared in the circle. Allura frowned. Doused the candles, set up new ones, repeated the ritual, and still there was nothing. She had not erred. And that could only mean one thing.

He wasn't dead.

She had not been able to entertain that idea before. One of Voltron's warriors had fallen, the fragile hope had shattered... to have that hope snatched away had nearly broken her in ways even the first attack had not managed. Of course Sven _had_ to be dead. Couldn't have survived the transit. Couldn't possibly be cured, could never return.

But his ghost was not appearing. Which meant he could not be dead.

Hope. It was returning again, surging in her, mixed with shame that she'd ever let herself fall to this despair in the first place.

One had fallen, but the others remained. They still had the lions, still had Voltron. And Sven was still out there, surviving against all odds. He _would_ heal. He _would_ return. Now it was just a matter of making sure Arus lasted that long.

Allura walked to Sven's window, overlooking the lake, and gazed down at the water. The Drules weren't going to wait around for him to recover, that was for sure. It was amazing that they'd held back even this long. Someone was going to have to pilot Blue Lion until he came back...

Someone...

No. Not just _someone_. This was what she'd come here for to begin with, she realized, eyes narrowing as she turned away from the window. Not just to confirm to herself that he was dead. To get him to talk some sense into her. To gain his blessing for what she knew she _had_ to do, no matter how shattered she may have been.

Sven wasn't dead. There was no blessing from the spirit realm to be had. But Allura was no longer shattered.

"Watch over me," she whispered to whatever phantoms might remain in this room. "I'm going to defend my planet. And if I can be half as strong as you were, Arus will never fall."

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was nearly certain the candles flickered.


End file.
